


Choose Your Last Words Part 2

by ElizabethWilde, VicStone



Series: Choose Your Last Words [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Barebacking, Bisexual Clint Barton, Bisexual Phil Coulson, Bisexual Scott Summers, Bisexual Tony Stark, Bisexual Wolverine, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Dancing, Drinking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Oral Sex, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Romance, SHIELD Husbands, Science, Sexy Times, Stony - Freeform, Super Husbands, Team Dynamics, Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Fingering, phlint - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-06-01 07:57:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 100,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15138620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElizabethWilde/pseuds/ElizabethWilde, https://archiveofourown.org/users/VicStone/pseuds/VicStone
Summary: The team has survived - more or less - but their problems are a long way from over. With Asgardian relics, a pissed off Loki, and new romance blooming, the Avengers have plenty to worry about.Warnings and pairings will be listed at the top of the chapters so readers can dive in or avoid certain things as they desire and will also be updated in the tags as new chapters are added. Mostly canon compliant through X2 and Avengers. While there will be many pairings throughout the full span of the fic (quite a few rather brief), the primary pairings overall are Tony/Steve, Logan/Scott, and Clint/Phil.





	1. Survival

**Author's Note:**

> We all deserve a little sweet smut to start the week off, right? Right.

As the world exploded into chaos, Natasha drifted wordlessly inside the cell and closer to Logan, who was clutching the gun as ordered. "Go take care of Scott. If we need two response teams, it would be good to know that now." She nodded toward the door. "No one's going to be paying attention enough to stop you." 

What the others couldn't hear of the medics' conversations, Logan could. He had to fight the rush of guilt he felt. This was his fault. All of it. If he hadn't been so stupid... The weight of the weapon he'd just barely managed to take from Steve's hands before the man collapsed reminded him what he had to do. He focused on Nat. "I won't need a medic. I might need a few minutes, but no medics. Or they'll need medics." It wasn't a threat, just a warning. Logan didn't want to come to finding out he'd maimed or killed another person. //Hospitality's worn thin already,// he thought to himself, hoisting the gun and looking at it closely. He still remembered exactly what Steve had shown him. It was the least he could do.

Slipping out of the cell, he quickly moved to Scott's and waited while Natasha keyed it open. Knowing the man couldn't see him, he announced himself. Logan didn't take the time to explain himself to Scott. He told Scott to stay still and keep the blindfold on in his most commanding voice, then went through the sequence of buttons as precisely as he could. //This is gonna hurt,// he thought, pulling the trigger. It didn't, in fact. Not for several seconds. Then it got hard to breathe. Hard to see. Hard to think. Soon enough, Logan was sagging to the cell floor. He could tell his heart had stopped. It wasn’t a new feeling. Logan sank quietly to the floor, the gun clattering on the cold metal as Logan faded.

Natasha shoved the door open and was taking Logan's pulse a beat later. "You can take the blindfold off." She knew it was a risk, but she suspected it would be fine. If it wasn't, there would be property damage to deal with. As it was, they'd all be knee deep in meetings and paperwork for a month no matter what happened with Steve. After a long, tense moment, Logan's heart began to pump again. She muttered under her breath in Russian and rose in time to see Fitz-Simmons appearing in the door.

"Oh, good, he's... breathing? Excellent." Simmons tried to smile but received no warmth in kind from Romanov and cleared her throat. "We brought-"

A small drone buzzed in behind her, and Fitz proudly proclaimed, "We thought he might be able to get the gun for us without anyone having more contact."

It was a practical solution even if the pair set her teeth on edge, and Romanov gave a nod then proceeded to more or less ignore them as they extracted the gun and scurried back down the hallway. 

Scott had torn off the blindfold and was checking Logan over even though Natasha had already determined he was alive. "Jesus, what-"

Natasha gave the same brief spiel she'd given to Logan. "Steve's in medical." She would think about how he was doing later. "I'll help you get him back to your quarters."

"I can leave?"

The woman finally did smile. "I don't think any of the guards can actually stop me."

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

 

It wasn't an easy trip, but with the help of some reluctant guards who were rather responsive to Natsha’s cold stare, they got Logan upstairs to Scott's room. The bed was still a mess, and Scott tried hard not to think about why. He felt sick to his stomach remembering what he'd done. "If you hear anything about Captain Rogers..."

"I'll keep you in the loop," Natasha agreed, heading for the door without another word. She needed to find Clint and then start clearing herself to be officially free again.

Scott sagged and let his whole body sag. His nerves were frayed, and he was exhausted, but he also felt an odd sense of relief being close to Logan. Eventually Scott talked himself into showering, then pulled a chair up next to the bed and sank down into it. As much as he wanted to curl up around Logan and hold him, he knew better. The man wasn't likely to wake up calm. Besides, it felt like an invasion considering Logan didn't yet know what he'd done with Clint. There was a damn good chance that he'd walk out the second he could get on his feet, and Scott couldn't really blame him.

Logan shifted a little and groaned miserably. His mouth tasted like he'd eaten a sack full of old pennies, and the rest of him felt like he'd been hit by a truck. But worse. The feeling was fading quickly, but he still took his time focusing on his surroundings. Weakly, he reached out and dragged Scott toward him, tugging until the man was laying against him. Logan was quiet, still absorbing the moment. He hesitated as certain scents finally hit him. He tensed, reminding himself to avoid leaping to conclusions. "Scott," he asked slowly, trying to keep his tone neutral, "what..." There was nothing he could ask that didn't sound like an accusation in his head. Finally, he settled for stating what he knew, "Barton was here."

Scott's breath left him in a sharp sound that was almost a sob. He was sure that Logan was going to push him away any second, and he let himself hold fast for every beat he had left. "Yeah," he answered, finally drawing back so that he sat on the bed next to the man. He wanted to touch, to hold, to assure Logan that it hadn't meant anything, that he hadn't even really known what the hell he was doing until it was too late. "I didn't... I didn't mean..." The tears came even as he tried to hold them back. "I didn't know, and he didn't... he had no way to... it wasn't until after... that's when I asked him to take me in. I knew I couldn't trust myself, and god, if I could... I'm so sorry."

Logan tensed, looking pained. It had nothing to do with the fact that Scott had been fucking around with Clint. It hurt him to see Scott in so much anguish after the man had narrowly evaded a similar fate at the hands of his kidnappers. "God... Scott..." It hurt him like a knife to the gut to see Scott cry. Unsure if the contact would be welcome, he reached for his lover. When Scott didn't immediately pull away, he dragged him close, arms wrapping around his lover, gathering Scott's hands and holding them close and curling around the man as protectively as he could. "I'm so sorry. I... this is all my fault. I'm sorry," he whispered, feeling even worse knowing that Scott was blaming himself.

Scott shuddered in the man's arms. He hadn't meant to fall apart, but once the tears started, it was hard to stop them. He supposed he'd probably been holding them in since long before everything that happened with Clint or Loki. Unable to form the words to tell Logan the things he wanted to, Scott clung tightly to his lover and let the tears flow. He sobbed until the sounds became harsh breaths instead and finally managed, "It isn't. Your fault, I mean. It isn't. Such a fucking mess," he mumbled before drawing back, heedless of the fact that he probably looked like death warmed over. "Did you mean what you said to Steve? Do you... do you still feel that way?"

Logan held the man tight, letting him cry. Scott bottled things up too much. It had been for the sake of the team when there had still been a team for him to lead. Now he definitely needed to let go. Logan didn't move, didn't speak until Scott did. At Scott's question, he smiled and pulled him into a gentle, chaste kiss that lingered nonetheless. As Logan drew back, he looked into Scott's eyes and nodded solemnly. "I do. I wasn't sure I'd get to tell you in person, but... glad I get to. I love ya, Scott."

Scott didn't believe the words at first. He stared into Logan's eyes and could read everything there. A harsh breath left him, and he sagged into Logan's arms again. "I love you too. I think... even before Loki, and all this... I think... I think I pushed too fast. I wanted to be normal and okay, and I don't think I'm okay yet." His eyes fell closed, but he felt oddly at ease discussing so horrific a subject because he was discussing it with Logan. If he hadn't run yet, he wasn't going to. "Getting closer doing this, though."

Logan nodded. He wasn't exactly the person to go to for dealing with things in a healthy manner. Still, he could certainly relate. "You don't haveta be normal 'til you're ready to. Promise." He gave Scott a faint smile, running a hand through the man's hair. "Listen, I know we kinda dove in head first on... everything, so it's in your court now. I'm lettin' you set the pace." He leaned in for a light kiss, then smirked a little. "Mostly, anyway. But I just want ya to know that I ain't expectin' more 'n you feel like givin'."

"And just so you know, you haven't pushed." Scott couldn't help smiling back at Logan as they remained cuddled up closely. "You've been great. I pushed. I pushed myself farther and faster than I should have. I don't want to backtrack with this, I just want to be..." He fell silent and considered the right words. It would be painfully easy to make it sound like he was avoiding Logan when he was trying to give himself breathing room. "I just want to be less desperate. We live dangerous lives, and I don't want to miss things, but right now, if I have to put the hero stuff on hold to have the stuff with you... I think I'd rather do that."

 

Logan raised an eyebrow but didn't argue. He was pretty sure, in fact, that he would have rather Scott not get in the line of fire again anytime soon. The man had been through enough, and Logan couldn't help but feel protective of him for that fact. He was quiet for a moment, holding Scott close and relishing the contact. "You do what you gotta do, darlin'. I think you're the one who knows best what you've got to take care of."

"I think if I knew that, I'd be a lot less of a mess," Scott answered with a snort, "but maybe. I just know I should figure it out." He knew how it sounded, how it was. He was talking about walking away from the only thing he really knew how to do. "I should learn to tend bar or something. I don't think SHIELD will appreciate me hanging out here if I'm not doing field work." He paused. "I guess there's paperwork. I can probably file things, maintain the motor pool or something."

 

"You could talk to Coulson. He does field work sometimes, but a lot of his thing is coordinating. I think you'd still get plenty of work done and use your usual skillset without having to risk someone rearrangin' your brain again," Logan said. For his part, Logan couldn't imagine giving up the work they did. His life felt strangely pointless without conflict, but he couldn't blame Scott. The man had reached his limit, at least for the time being. "But I wouldn't object to you tendin' bar, either. 'Specially if I could get ya to wear a low-cut shirt while you handed me a beer. You'd get all the tips you wanted," he teased, grinning into Scott's hair and placing a kiss to the top of his head.

Scott laughed out loud at the image and settled himself in more firmly against Logan. It was like being wrapped in a cocoon, safe and snug and warm. He needed that sense of security even if they weren't likely to have long to enjoy it. "Okay, when you put it that way, I should probably talk to Coulson." Scott paused. "I didn't get a whole lot of what was going on, just what I could figure out from the chatter. Care to paint me a picture of how bad things are going to be around here?" If the gun could knock Logan on his ass after one use, he wondered what the hell had happened to Steve trying the same thing twice.

"Well, I can't say one hundred percent for sure, but last I saw Rogers, he looked pretty damn terrible," Logan said. He shook his head. "And they were walkin' Barton around in handcuffs last I looked. Not sure what that's all about, but I heard 'em say somethin' about a hammer. Don't know much more than that. Considerin' what that gun did to me, though, I'd bet their worst worry is blondie right now."

Scott hated the idea of Steve being hurt or even worse while they hid in his room. He sighed and ventured, "Think we should check in with somebody?" Given that the only people he knew in the place were likely to be at the man's bedside, he had no idea who to contact. "I don't know... text Coulson or something?" At least it would show that they cared. 

Logan nodded. He dug into his pocket. Nobody'd had the nerve get close enough to take his cell phone from him while he was locked up, and apparently Stark's little phones held their batteries for awhile. Finding Coulson's number, Logan punched in a quick message, "Let us know how Rogers is," before setting it aside to wait for the reply. "There. Hopefully he's not too busy." Logan honestly wanted to know, as well, but the rest of the team was obviously far more tightly knit, and he felt like he was sticking his nose where it didn't go.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

 

Phil's phone buzzed, and he pulled it out, half expecting to see a message from Fury. Instead he saw Logan's name on the screen. Given that he was doing little more than standing outside the door ready to play interference if the doctors wanted to try to chase Tony out, he tapped a quick reply. ALIVE. SERUM EFFECTS HAVE BEEN NULLIFIED. TONY'S WITH HIM.

 

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

 

It didn't take long for a response, and Scott was half surprised. That could be good or bad. If Steve was dead, people would be scrambling. If he was just badly hurt, they might be waiting. Neither option sounded like a happy one. "What's he say?"

Logan frowned at the phone. "He's alive. But the serum's out," he said. He didn't know exactly what that meant, but he knew enough about Steve to know that it meant the man had at least temporarily lost his powers. He tapped out an acknowledgment to Coulson, then set the phone aside once more. "Stark's with him." He frowned. He couldn't imagine losing his abilities. It had to be even harder for Steve considering where the man came from. Grabbing the phone again, Logan sent a request to be notified when they'd be allowed to visit Steve. "Feel like I kinda owe 'im a thank you, at least."

"Me too," Scott agreed. He shifted and grabbed Logan by the front of his shirt to drag the man into a kiss. It started out soft but grew a bit more intense than he'd meant for it to until Scott finally paused. "Sorry. But, yeah, if he hadn't done whatever the hell it was both of you did, I might not have gotten you back. Or me." He stretched and shifted. "Want to eat something? I could use food that isn't delivered by someone who seems to expect me to kill them any second. That's surprisingly off putting when it comes to meals."

//Eating them blindfolded, too, I bet.// Logan didn't say it. He figured Scott could use fewer rather than more reminders of their time spent in the detention cells. He wanted to drag Scott back into that kiss and stay in the bed, but Barton's lingering scent was doing nothing for his mood. "Yeah. Maybe some wings and beer?" he suggested. He wasn't sure if Scott would be up to going out for something like that, but it was worth a try.

Leaving the base and clearing his head sounded pretty good. "Yeah. Sure. That would be nice." Scott rose and stretched. "Let me grab a shower, and then maybe we can change the sheets when we get back." He didn't want any reminders either, and his senses weren't as sharp as Logan's. They were too old to think that completely fresh starts were a thing that really happened, but they cared about each other enough to try anyway. He got himself clean in record time and put on jeans and a t-shirt, making a mental note to thank Coulson since he suspected the man was the one who'd filled his drawers with basics, and then rejoined Logan in the living room. "Let's get out of here. I need to breathe some real air for awhile."

Logan nodded, leading the charge out of the building. Not having wheels of his own in the garage, they settled for a cab ride and some friendly locals to tell them where the best place to eat was. As they settled at a table, Logan looked over the menu. "Not bad." He glanced at Scott. It was the first time they'd been out of the tower together. "You good?" It was asked casually. Logan didn't want to treat Scott like he was made of spun glass, but he also didn't want the man putting too much pressure on himself for the sake of a simple outing or trying to normalize things again.

 

Half surprised himself by the realization, Scott nodded, "I'm doing good." No one in the place knew them, and it was a pleasant thing to be temporarily free of preconceptions. "The change of scenery is helping." He perused the menu and ventured, "Even if I end up joining up with SHIELD officially, I might see about a place of my own. Somewhere close," Scott assured, "but I've never had my own space."

Logan nodded his understanding. He could relate, in a way. Sometimes even a shithole apartment was better than having to see the same damned people every day even on your day off. He really wanted Scott in his bed every night, but he was able to tolerate having him a few doors down. The idea of Scott being a half hour away or on the other side of town made Logan uncomfortable. He wasn't going to protest, though. He could understand Scott's need for privacy. "I'm sure SHIELD would pay ya enough to get a decent place," he said, deciding on his order and then setting the menu aside.

"And close," Scott reminded him with a hint of a smile. "I meant what I said about not rushing things, but I mean, if I did end up living 'off campus,' so to speak, and you happened to have a drawer for your stuff and stay over sometimes, I don't think that would be awful." He nudged Logan's foot under the table. "I kind of think that would be perfect." When the waiter came, Scott gave his order and then waited for Logan to do the same. He'd never actually dated a guy, and he had no idea what Logan was like in a relationship, so he asked, "Can I hold your hand? I dunno how you feel about PDA."

Logan grinned and put his hand out to Scott. "Darlin', I'd love to hold yer hand," he decided, winking at the other man. It was cute, really, Scott's hesitance. He couldn't blame the guy, though. Logan knew he didn't exactly scream 'hug me' to people around him. "My PDA limits mostly involve no fuckin' on the restaurant booth. Unless I'm really drunk." He gave Scott a look that let the man know he was aware of the irony.

Scott raised his eyebrows but didn't bother commenting. "I think I can follow that rule pretty easily." Scott enjoyed PDA, but only when it came to romantic gestures. Sex was a behind closed doors activity so far as he was concerned, and the threat of getting caught wasn't a turn on, it was something that made his hands sweat and his eye twitch. Scott slid his hand across the table to grasp Logan's firmly. They got a couple of looks from big bruiser types, but none of those bruisers looked like they really wanted to start something with Logan. "I never considered it before, but I guess if I'm going to go into bars and hold my boyfriend's hand, there are some pretty sizable advantages to having a boyfriend who looks like he could break most of the guys in the bar in half."

Logan couldn't help but laugh a little, grinning even more broadly when their beers were brought to them by a cute young woman who gave them both a wink. "Well, a nice fight'd always been entertainin'," he said. He knew Scott probably wouldn't agree, but Logan had no plans to start anything. "Though I'm not the one who took the ceilin' off Grand Central Station. You're the one they really oughta be afraid of."

Scott shrugged. "People only see what's obvious." It was true of a lot of different things. For a long time he'd done himself the same disservice, never really exploring what he wanted enough to be sure about it. He'd accepted his life as it was, no questions asked. It hadn't been bad, but it hadn't fit him in every way it should have either. "I'm not making any decisions about the future right now," Scott observed as he clinked his bottle against Logan's, "except that I want you in it."

Logan's eyebrows raised in amusement even as he drank to the declaration. "I think that can be arranged," he said, smiling across the table at Scott. It felt good to know that Scott was certain he wanted Logan around. The feral mutant hadn't thought about it too much, but he'd been quietly afraid that he was a security blanket, that Scott wanted him around because he was familiar and because he'd rescued Scott from his kidnappers. "As in, I think you better keep one o' those dresser drawers empty."

 

Scott grinned in return and took a swig from his beer. "That I can and will happily agree to." He was glad that Logan wasn't angry with him. He was glad that they might be okay. "I can even promise closet space assuming I can afford a place with a closet and a drawer. I mean, that would be pretty fancy." Scott sat back to let the waitress set their food down. "Thank you." She gave them a warm smile in return, and he resolved to tip her within an inch of her life if she managed to keep up with their drinks too. The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea of having a place of his own where he and Logan could be apart from the craziness of everything that went into being a hero. "Then again, after a week I might start missing Stark's tower after all."

"Jarvis is pretty handy," Logan had to admit. "And no need for a closet. One pair o' shoes, and if it needs a hanger, it won't survive me usin' it, anyway." He grinned, digging into his hot wings and taking another swig of beer. "All I need's a bed and a drawer. Though I ain't above livin' outta my duffel bag, either. Toilet and microwave's nice to have, too."

 

"Sounds good," Scott agreed. "All the essentials." He watched Logan drinking and realized how much he was enjoying just sitting with the man and eating greasy food and enjoying a good, cheap beer. Maybe they didn’t deserve the reprieve in the midst of the chaos, but they needed it. "When I start looking - if I start looking - would you come with me?" They wouldn't be getting a place together exactly, but Scott wanted Logan to feel at home wherever he was. He wanted the man to be part of any changes that he made in his life.

Logan, beer bottle still in hand, pointed at Scott. "One condition." He waited until Scott was listening. "I'm not pickin' out any curtains with you. Nothin' against you, but I am not dealin' with some interior design creep tellin' me I'm a winter." He smirked. "Otherwise, I'd be happy to." It was fun relaxing with his lover in spite of the occasional disapproving look he got from members of the crowd. They all had the sense to leave it at glares, and while Logan would have loved to straighten those guys out, he was pretty sure that Scott could do with less stress rather than more.

"I think that’s a fair request," Scott agreed. He smiled as another realization rolled over him. "This is pretty much my favorite date ever." With Jean he'd always felt like he was trying to play a very specific role and failing more often than not. With Logan he felt at ease. 

"Beer 'n' hotwings, huh?" Logan knew that wasn't what Scott meant, but he couldn't help ribbing him for it. "Well, at least I won't haveta try hard to outdo myself," he said, giving Scott a casual wink as he finished off the last of said food. Wiping his fingers off, he reached across the table again until Scott took his hand. "It's pretty damn nice, if I say so myself. Maybe I'll find us somewhere next time that isn't full o' assholes that wanna give us the stinkeye for holdin' hands."

"It could be interesting to see what kind of looks you get at a drag show," Scott deadpanned. Logan made a good point. Congenial as their waitress was, the clientele were far less warm and inviting. "Maybe we should head out, get a walk in. I could use some fresh air before we call it a night... not that the bouquet of beer and cigarette smoke isn't absolutely enchanting."

"Count yourself lucky that's all you can smell," Logan countered with a grin. He plopped more than enough money on the table to cover the food and a ridiculous tip for their waitress. "C'mon." He led them out into the street. The sun had just gone down, and the city was coming to life in a whole new way. Logan smiled, grabbing Scott's hand and tugging him close. "So where're we gettin' this fresh air o' yours?"

"What? This isn't fresh enough for you?" Scott threaded their fingers together and suggested, "We could head to Central Park." No one without a death wish was likely to try to jump Logan, which left him feeling pretty sure about the idea even with the darkness coming on. "Being around some trees and the illusion of nature sounds like fun."

"Alright, Central Park sounds close enough," Logan agreed, squeezing Scott's hand. It'd get them away from the city's fumes for a minute, at least. "Though I think you're just trying to bait some idiots into gettin' themselves killed," he added with a grin. 

"No killing people this close to the tower. I'm going to be telling Fury I'm not ready for active duty in the next couple of days on top of him maybe losing his team leader. I don't want to get in trouble because you skewered any idiots." Scott was willing to allow that some idiots absolutely deserved to be skewered, he just wasn't willing to take the fall for their stupidity. "That said, it might be nice stress relief leaving somebody with a reminder to not bother others if anyone is rude. Something subtle like a fractured jaw."

"You know, I might be able to swing that kinda subtle," Logan decided, smirking faintly. "Well, I'm sure if we walk around here long enough, I could find someone who needs their face remodeled."

Scott snorted at the mental image. He was pretty sure Logan was right. It was New York. You didn't have to go far too find that. "Or a park bench to make out on." 

Logan raised an amused eyebrow. "I think I like that idea," he said, his voice dropping a notch as he leaned in the nip at the side of Scott's throat. Logan had few qualms about PDA, but he figured Scott would draw the line before he ever would. Letting the other man set the pace seemed like the best approach. "Definitely have no qualms about stickin' my tongue your throat in the park."

"When you put it that way, it sounds so romantic," Scott answered with a chuckle. Logan would never be a poet, but he was a good guy. They spotted a likely bench with no hobos clustered on it, and he sat down, dragging Logan with him. He barely let the man's solid bulk settle before leaning in for a kiss. They both tasted like wings and beer and smelled like stale cigarettes, but it didn't matter. Scott let the light rush of touching Logan where anyone could come across them flush the rest of the concerns from his system.

Logan sighed his approval and rested his arm across the back of the bench, his hand gripping Scott's shoulder. He lightly teased his lover's full lips with his tongue, then pressed further. He was glad Scott was comfortable with a little PDA. It felt good to know others could see that Scott was his.

Scott leaned into Logan's side. He liked the heat that always radiated off of the other man. His lips parted against Logan's in a silent plea for more. Things were crazy at the tower, and he knew they'd have a hell of a lot more problems to face come morning, but that didn't mean they didn't deserve the break. He kind of loved that the break involved Logan kissing him like it was the most important thing he'd do all night.

Logan wasn't sure how far Scott would let him push the limits, but he wasn't afraid to find out. The feral mutant slid his hand under Scott's shirt tail, teasingly running his thumb along the outline of the man's abs and then dipping a couple fingertips into Scott's waistband. All the while, his tongue stroked slowly along Scott's in mimicry of a far more intimate act.

It was hotter than he'd expected sitting on a bench in plain sight with Logan more or less fucking his mouth. Scott was breathless inside of sixty seconds and ready to climb onto Logan's lap like by minute two. He broke the kiss with a groan and settled twitching fingers on Logan's face. "You do absolutely horrific things to my self control. I really, really like that about you."

Logan gave Scott a confident smirk. "Glad t' help," he answered, leaning into Scott's touch a little, his eyes a few shades darker than they had been before. His own pulse was thrumming with the way Scott looked, the way he panted. He touched his lips to Scott's, chastely at first, kissing only briefly before he leaned in again and again, each kiss lingering a little longer and getting a little more intimate. "Tough for me to keep my hands to myself," he murmured against Scott's mouth between kisses. "Kinda just wanna bend you over this bench, decency be damned." He wouldn't, of course, but it didn't mean he didn't have the urge.

Scott's breath caught, and the whine he let out was entirely undignified. They had to calm down a little or they'd be rubbing each other off on a bench, and that wasn't something he wanted on his rap sheet. "We need to take it down a notch. Maybe take it home, actually? I... that whole going slow thing is sounding lame. Really lame. And stupid. Did I mention how stupid that sounds?" Scott licked his lips and then found Logan's and kissed him soundly instead. "What do you say? Back to your room? You'll probably spend all day in meetings tomorrow. Might as well have something fun to think about while you're in there."

"Mm... I like the way you think. We can save slow for the whole pickin' out drapes together part. I kind think some other things need to happen on the faster scale."

It took them a few minutes' walk to get back to a cab stand, and then a ride that felt like forever because Logan was pretty sure that fucking Scott in the back of the cab was a bad idea. An eternal elevator came next, and Logan was dragging Scott into his room with one hand while he impatiently tugged at the buttons on his own shirt with the other. "God you smell amazing, taste amazing," he panted against Scott's lips, giving up on the shirt to use both hands to cradle Scott's head and kiss him hard. "So good," he breathed roughly.

Scott was glad to be in Logan's room. He'd make sure to eradicate every trace of what had happened with Clint from his later, but for the moment he wanted a clean slate. Logan's room reminded him of those first few days back and the burgeoning realization that he felt safer with Logan than anyone else. "And here you haven't even tasted half of me tonight," Scott teased as he gripped Logan's hips and ground their bodies together. He was still covered with healing bruises himself, and warned quietly, "Just watch the dark spots. I look like a banana that's a couple days over its sale by date right now."

Logan stilled at the reminder. He knew what he'd done to Scott himself. He didn't know what Barton had done, though he could guess that, in Scott's state at the time, it hadn't been gentle. Slowing his movements, he pressed his lips gently to Scott's neck. "Then maybe slow ain't such a bad idea after all," he murmured, gently sliding his hands down Scott's sides. His hands stopped at the man's hips and then moved back upwards, gently pushing Scott's shirt up a bit. Logan almost didn't want to see the bruises, to see what he and Clint had done to his lover.

"Just might have to keep things more NC-17 than X-rated tonight," Scott answered, letting Logan push his shirt up and off. He knew he looked like kind of a mess. He'd winced at the sight of himself in the mirror when he showered while Logan was still passed out on the bed. There was still a wealth of things they could do as long as he didn't let Logan get freaked out or pull away. "I'm fine. I've had a lot worse than this." Maybe not for worse reasons, but it was a mess for everyone. Feeling like it was probably better to get a lot of it out of the way at once, Scott unfastened his own pants and let them fall. With his boxer briefs hanging low on his hips, it was easy to see the finger-shaped bruises dotting the skin. Even Scott wasn't sure which bruises belonged to which man, and he didn't let himself think too much about it. He caught the look on Logan's face and swallowed. "If I should put my pants on and head back to my own room... I mean, I don't think anybody would blame you if this kills the mood."

Logan ran his fingers lightly over a bite mark in Scott's shoulder that he was pretty sure he hadn't caused, then looked back up into Scott's eyes. "Might change the mood a little," he murmured, lips brushing against Scott’s, "but killin' it ain't a concern." His fingers brushed over Scott's hips as if to soothe the injuries there, his lips over the ruts gouged by blunt fingernails on Scott’s shoulder. He pulled Scott close against him, his lips travelling gently over his lover's stubbled throat. "We just need to go easy."

 

Scott nodded his agreement as he felt Logan's hands moving over his sensitive skin. He knew that he wouldn't be able to have Logan inside him. It was too soon on a lot of levels. Thankfully there were still a thousand other ways that they could make each other feel good. Scott was grateful to see the anger sliding away from Logan's face. Clint didn't deserve to have Logan pissed off at him. //He should be pissed at me.// Since he didn't want that either, Scott kept the thought to himself. "I like slow too... especially the way you touch me."

Logan sighed contentedly at the words, "Good," nuzzling Scott's throat before he brushed a few gentle kisses to his lover's full lips. Reluctantly, he pulled back, shrugging off his shirt a more deliberately than he'd originally set out to before settled on the couch and he tugged his lover down to sit beside him, assuming a position similar to what they'd taken in the park, his arm behind Scott's shoulders and his other hand on the man's knee. Pulling Scott into another, much more passionate kiss, Logan let his hand trail up Scott's abs and over his chest, intent on quietly exploring the man's body in a way he hadn't yet taken the time to do.

Scott was glad to relax and glad that Logan hadn't put the brakes on. He leaned into the embrace and let himself enjoy the reprieve. There had been a desperation to what they'd done together before that hadn't let them really explore. Passion was great, but they couldn't treat every sexual encounter like they'd never see each other again. It wasn't healthy or sustainable in the long term, which was something Scott definitely wanted them to have. As his lips parted beneath Logan's, Scott's hand raised to the man's hair and trailed down the back of his neck. 

Logan fairly purred at the contact. It sent a tingle through him to have fingers run through his hair, though it wasn't a sensation he got to focus on often. His fingers trailed lightly over Scott's skin, aware of the numerous bruises on the man's body. "You're so gorgeous," he breathed between kisses. It chilled him to think he could've lost the man. His hand trailed lightly over Scott's thighs, deftly avoiding going for the more obvious target, instead merely flirting with the idea of more intimate contact.

Scott wasn't sure how true the words were given his current state, but he knew that Loan meant them. That went a long way toward offering comfort. "You're gorgeous." His fingers trailed down through the hair on Logan's chest. The man looked like something off the cover of a romance novel. "Scared the hell out of me coming so close to... god, we both could've gotten written off so easily. "

Logan pressed his lips to Scott's throat, his hand cupping the man's face as he nuzzled his cheek. "All I could think o' was what they'd do to you if they decided you were too dangerous," he said. "S'why I had to tell you I loved you through Steve. Wasn't sure I'd get to tell you in person," he admitted softly, brushing his lips softly to Scott's.

"It's okay. Maybe it wasn't the same as hearing it from you the first time, but it was a hell of a lot better than risking not hearing it." He smiled at the light kisses and broke off to do some kissing of his own. Scott gently nipped at Logan's jaw and then kissed a path to his ear, licking and sucking there to see what got the best reaction. "Just so you know, I told him to return the sentiment. I don't think he got a chance, but it's true. I love you."

Logan, fairly thoroughly distracted by the kisses to the most perfect spot on his ear, almost didn't register the sentiment. "Like hearin' that," he decided, running his fingers through Scott's hair. He nipped lightly at his lover's shoulder, careful to keep the contact gentle as he trailed his fingers down Scott's stomach once more, lightly teasing at the waistband of his boxers.

"I like saying it." Scott smiled as they teased one another. He wasn't hard as a rock and ready to go the way it usually was after a few seconds with them. The burn was slower, and he enjoyed the slow curl of arousal unfolding inside him. "I like the way you look first thing in the morning," Scott kissed his lover's neck, "and the fact that you don't drink wine," another kiss, this time to Logan's collarbone, "and the way you taste."

Logan closed his eyes, sighed heavily, and let his head fall back as Scott's lips moved over his skin. "Kinda really like the way you use your mouth," he breathed, lifting his head and smirking at his lover, "and the way you hold my hand." It was the most romantic thing he could think of to say. The feeling of Scott's fingers tangled with his while they'd eaten dinner had been strangely soothing.

Scott was surprised by the words but all the more pleased by them because of it. He hadn't expected the sweetness, and he liked it, blushing faintly as he found Logan's lips again. The kiss was soft, undemanding. It deepened as Scott almost casually threw a leg over Logan's lap. It was a tease, and they both knew it. Scott wasn't rushing, but he wasn't going to stand still and miss an opportunity to hear Logan's breath catch either. Some things were worth a little teasing.

Logan made a soft sound of arousal into Scott's mouth, pushing up into the kiss, his lips parting to allow Scott's tongue into his mouth. Logan's hand slid down Scott's back, grabbing the man's ass for a moment before running down over his thigh. Logan's fingers hooked under Scott's knee, but instead of tugging Scott more fully onto his lap, he gently held the leg where it was. Logan loved the teasing as much as more direct stimulation, and his hips shifted upwards lightly to make sure Scott knew that much.

Scott sighed happily at the contact and the assurance that Logan liked what they were doing too. It was lazy, and maybe it wouldn't even go anywhere, and that was nice too. He didn't really care as long as the night ended with them curled up in bed together. While he'd been desperately trying not to freak out in the cell, that was the thing he needed most. Scott had ached for Logan's arms curled around him and the warmth of the man's body, his steady heartbeat. "I really, really missed being close to you."

Logan looked up at Scott, expression sobering a bit. "I kept wishin' I could just hold you, even just for a few minutes." He smiled faintly. "I even asked the agents if I could. They looked at me like I'd asked for a chainsaw," he said, smile broadening a little before he leaned in for another slow kiss. His hands slid up Scott's stomach, thumbs lightly brushing over his nipples before moving down to the man's hips and urging him fully onto his lap.

"Yeah, well, if you took the blindfold off, I could've been a lot worse than a chainsaw," Scott pointed out as he took the prompt and slid smoothly over to straddle Logan's lap. It was warm and comfortable and really pretty perfect. Given his headspace, Scott knew SHIELD hadn’t been wrong to be cautious. He could have killed someone. As much as he hadn't exactly wanted to hurt anybody, if he'd had a shot at getting to Logan and they'd given him an opening, it could've gotten ugly fast. "Besides, we were both a mess. We probably would've been more of a mess together." He kissed Logan soundly to remove any sting from the words. "I like this better. I like it being really us."

//We were a mess together,// Logan reflected, fingers regretfully tracing a bruise. "Might've been a little awkward, cuddlin' in front o' all those agents," he admitted with a smirk, his hands resting on Scott's hips, teasing the crease between his hip and thigh with his thumbs. He sucked and licked lightly at the smaller man's collar bone, enjoying the low thrum of arousal as Scott shifted against him in a way that was distractingly intimate.

"Very," Scott agreed with a sigh. He found that the longer he was pressed up against Logan, the less he thought about just going to sleep when the time came. Scott couldn't help the way his hips stuttered against Logan's when his lover started stroking strong hands over his legs. Even with the bruises, it felt good. Logan's strength was still a thrill to him, a pleasant novelty that he was enjoying learning the ins and outs of. "Better with just the two of us."

"Could definitely do without the audience," Logan agreed. While he'd fooled around in a few dark bar corners in his life, blatant exhibitionism wasn't Logan's thing, especially when it was someone he cared about. Too much of Logan's life had been gone through without his permission, and something so private was staying private if he had anything to say about it. Leaning up, he licked and nipped at Scott's collarbone, his hands sliding down the back of his lover's boxers, gently kneading the man's ass, mindful of his bruises.

"I can't ask you to fuck me tonight," Scott whispered against Logan's ear, "but I would really, really like to suck you off right now." He hoped it wasn't pushing for too much or breaking the mood they'd set. Scott knew if he let himself retreat or second guess too much, he'd end up doing it all the time, which would be ridiculous. The last thing he wanted was to spend their time together worrying instead of enjoying. Hopefully if Logan wasn't game, he'd just say no and they could keep going, no harm and no foul.

Logan's breath hitched in answer, his hands tightening a little on Scott's ass as he rolled his hips upwards slightly. His gaze moved up to Scott's eyes, and that was all the assurance Logan needed. He wanted to make sure that Scott wasn't just trying to make everything seem normal. The desire Logan saw when he looked into his lover's eyes was enough to convince Logan they'd be okay. "After you put it that way, I think I might lose my marbles a little if ya don't, darlin'," Logan decided.

"You say the sweetest things," Scott chuckled as he slid off of Logan's lap and onto the floor. His lover was hard as a rock, the tip of his cock leaking and leaving a dark patch against his boxers. Slowly Scott eased them off and left Logan's whole body bare to his gaze. He enjoyed the view unreservedly until Logan made a needy sound, and he remembered he'd promised to do something specific. Scott smiled and ran his tongue in long, sure licks over the heated flesh. He felt Logan's cock jump against his tongue but waited until he felt the strain in Logan's thighs under his hands before he finally took the head of the man into his mouth.

Logan made a sound somewhere between a grunt and a sigh as he watched Scott's mouth slide over his cock. His lover had the most amazing lips, and watching them slide along his shaft was enough to challenge even Logan's control. His hand slid into Scott's hair, hanging on and careful not to interfere with Scott's movement. Logan's other hand covered one of Scott's, and the mutant let his head fall back on the couch for a moment as he panted his pleasure. "You look amazin' down there," he murmured softly.

That was the general idea, and Scott took more of the other man into his mouth. He loved the pressure of Logan's hand on his own. It let him feel other, smaller signs of what the man was experiencing. He could feel Logan's hand twitch when his tongue swiped beneath the head of Logan's cock. He felt the muscles of his thighs tense as he pulled back and then forward again just as quickly. All in all, making Logan feel good was pretty fantastic. Watching him feel good, the loll of his head on the couch and the tensing of his body, was even better.

Logan raised his head to watch Scott, trying to keep from thrusting up into the man's mouth. He figured Scott had probably taken enough abuse, and judging by the bruises on his lover's hips, Clint likely hadn't used kid gloves on any part of Scott. The hand in Scott's hair moved away, trailing over the man's shoulders, sliding over his arm, tracing his ear and jawline. Logan wanted to cement the moment in his mind: Scott looking up at him with beautifully darkened blue eyes as his throbbing shaft slowly disappeared into the man's throat.

The look on Logan's face was perfect. The fact that he was letting Scott drive the bus was even better. Scott knew how much Logan liked being in control, but he didn't act the least bit put out or frustrated at the fact that Scott was setting the pace. Of course Scott didn't push the advantage either. He wanted to let Logan lose himself in the moment, not torture him. Knowing that Logan wouldn't take anything he wasn't giving made Scott even keener to pay attention to every little thing that told him when it felt especially good so that he could do those things again and again until he could make Logan fall apart.

Logan was glad he'd decided to let Scott have full control. The man was an expert at picking up his cues, doing just the right things without Logan saying a word and barely making a sound. Logan couldn't keep silent for long, though. He was soon moaning softly with every perfect shift, every flick of Scott's tongue and shift of his lips. "Nngh... God..." He was getting close, and he managed to warn Scott of as much. The hand that had been roaming, trying to touch every bit of his lover, settled on Scott's shoulder, gripping him lightly as Logan's breath caught in his throat.

Scott didn't stop for a moment. He wanted to drink every last drop and see the look on Logan's face while he did it. Reaching down, he couldn't resist giving himself a few careful strokes through his boxers. The friction built rather than relieved the tension, and Scott moaned around his lover's cock.

Logan's fingers dug into Scott's shoulder before he could stop himself, his back arching a bit as he threw his head back. He growled and moaned as he came, lifting his head in time to watch Scott take the generous load. "Fuck... fuck, Scott," he gasped, trying to keep enough control to not shove his dick completely down Scott's throat. Remembering to be gentle, he loosened his hand on Scott's shoulder.

Scott wasn't turned off in the slightest by the force. Neither of them had to worry that anyone was driving the mental bus but them, and he trusted Logan. He sucked hard and continued stroking himself. By the time Logan could take no more, Scott couldn't either. He climbed up onto Logan's lap and began stroking faster. "Gimme your hand," he murmured, hips already jerking into his fist. "Touch me, Logan, please..."

Logan pushed Scott away, shoving him onto his back on the couch. Before Scott could protest or assume that Logan was rejecting him, though, the feral mutant had knelt between his lover's knees. Logan unceremoniously wrapped his mouth around Scott's cock. He knew the other man wouldn't last long at all, but he wanted to give Scott something more than simple touching. Dark eyes drifted up to Scott's face as his hands clamped down on Scott's hips and his lover's shaft slowly slid down his throat.

"Oh, fuck, Logan," he hissed, fingers scrabbling at the couch. He'd been uncomfortably close to the edge even before Logan started. The unexpected heat and stimulation made him groan and gasp, his hips still only because of Logan's grip. It should have hurt with the bruises already dotting his skin, but Scott cried out in pure pleasure instead and came hard down his lover's throat before he had a chance to warn the man.

Logan drank the issue down gladly, continuing to suck until Scott's moans sounded more pained than pleasant. He finally drew away, crawling up to press his lips to his lover's and enjoying the mingled taste of both their releases on his tongue. "You look good," he murmured, nuzzling Scott's throat, his cheek. The man was sweaty, flushed, his hair a proper mess, and more beautiful than ever.

Scott laughed at that. "I look like a mess. So do you. I like it." He dragged Logan into a sloppy, lazy kiss. "Let's go to bed." The idea of curling up next to Logan and getting some well deserved rest sounded like heaven after the hellish days and weeks. "I honest to god can't think of anywhere I'd rather be."


	2. Man Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we find out how Steve is doing, and it's not all good news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All plot, no smut. Sorry about that. We'll fix it later ;)

Tony jumped at the firm touch of Coulson’s hand on his shoulder. He felt numb, detached. It didn't feel real. Steve had looked gray and frail on the stretcher. Even before he’d made it into Logan’s cell. //Like he's already dead.// The thought made him panic. He started to jump out of his wheelchair, but a pair of hands - strong in spite of the cuffs - pinned him into it.

"We don't need two cases for them to deal with," Clint said, voice firm, in mission-mode. He was compartmentalizing.

Tony didn't have the strength to fight. He wanted to puke. Or scream. Or both. "T-take me to... Follow." He couldn't put a real sentence together.

Unable to get a decent grip on Tony's wheelchair, Clint stood back and looked to Coulson. They didn't all need to sit at Steve's bedside, but he'd be damned if he'd leave even Tony Stark to face something like this completely alone.

Coulson took all of two seconds to process the information, file away what he couldn't handle, and formulate the best plan. "Barton, go make sure Romanov is okay. Get the cuffs off first. If anyone says anything, tell them they're welcome to come and speak with me directly." He paused. "Point out that right now would be a terrible time for them to come and speak to me directly. You know where we'll be." There was no way Tony could get himself to the infirmary. He was shaking and looked on the verge of passing out himself. Coulson had never seen the man so emotional about anything, so broken up and out of his element. It hurt, but Coulson pushed the hurt off to the side, made sure Clint knew what to do, and began pushing Tony's chair toward medical.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

 

Clint only had to threaten a junior agent a little to get the cuffs off. Mostly the threats involved asking the kid if he thought the handcuffs would really slow Clint down. After making sure everything in the cell block was as sorted out as it was going to get, Clint found Natasha's location through Jarvis and headed her way as quickly as he could. She was a few feet from Scott's door when he caught up with her. He had it in his head that he was going to ask her how she felt, tell her he missed her, or make some kind of half hearted joke about the whole ordeal. Instead, he all but tackled her and pulled her tight against him, hanging onto her like she'd disappear if he loosened his grip at all. His breathing roughened as he bit back tears, his whole body trembling.

Natasha couldn't help but hold on just as tight. She could handle anything if she needed to, suffer through any rough patches. Having her whole self pawed through artlessly, having Loki inside her head, had been one of the most horrifying things she'd ever felt. It was good to be home, to be safe, to have Clint's strong arms wrapped around her and know that he understood without needing to say anything. He understood better than anyone else in the world, and even if he hadn't, she wouldn't have needed to explain herself. He didn't require it. "It’s good to be home." 

"Glad you're back," he managed shakily. He held onto her for several more moments before finally drawing away enough to look at her. "I... God, I was so scared for you. If... if you need to talk..." He was shaking still. He wasn't sure if it was relief or adrenaline or both. His eyes were definitely getting blurry. He rested his forehead against hers as he gathered her hands in his. "I've been so scared we wouldn't get you back. I don't think I've ever been that scared."

“You worry too much," she answered, smiling just the same. It hurt to know that she couldn't offer all that he truly needed. "I'll always come back." As badly as she wanted to lose herself in the comfort Clint offered, it wasn't the time. "We should check on Steve. Stark looked bad. Coulson may need help keeping him from killing the medical staff."

Clint nodded, quirking a faint smile at the grim humor. He drew away from the woman, realizing he was probably being a little too emotional for her comfort. "Alright, yeah. Any chance to put Stark in a headlock."

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

 

Tony and Coulson arrived to find everyone busy and no one particularly inclined to stop and speak to them. Which meant waiting. With the adrenaline flowing and every muscle in his body tense, the last thing Coulson wanted to do was park himself in a chair and wait. But he did. He parked Tony's chair right next to him, sank down onto the plastic surface, and tried to look calmer than he felt. "He'll be fine. He's survived worse than this."

"You don't know that," Tony snapped irritably. He wasn't mad at Coulson, but he was at the end of his ability to stay polite and quiet. "This... this is some Asgardian techno-magic shit, and none of us really knows what it is. We're cavemen with rail guns, and we just reverse engineered that... that thing overnight and on zero sleep." His voice softened as his eyes fixed, unseeing, on the wall next to Phil's head. "We don't know what it's done..." That was it. He'd created something that had obviously hurt and might kill the man he loved. Tony was used to using himself as a guinea pig when he'd come up with a new toy, but this... He wasn't sure if it was harder to deal with not knowing the gun's effects or with knowing that he was a big part of creating the gun in the first place. 

"You're right, we don't know. That doesn't mean we can't believe," Coulson answered mildly. Tony needed to lash out. It was easy to see how furious he was - mostly with himself - and the least Coulson could offer was a target. He honestly didn't mind. On edge as he was, he understood completely. He'd snapped at more than a few junior agents when Clint or Natasha were in danger. It helped in a strange sort of a way. Few people took it personally. 

Coulson snapped to his feet the second the doors opened. The doctor looked exhausted, which was a terrible sign considering it had been less than ten minutes. A sick feeling of fear washed through him. "Status?"

"Captain Rogers..." The doctor seemed to still be sorting through his own thoughts, how to present the information, and began again, "He's unconscious. We have him hooked up to fluids and oxygen right now. We aren't certain he can breathe unassisted yet." 

It bothered Coulson to realize that the fact Steve couldn't breathe *wasn't* the thing weighing most heavily on his physician. He swallowed hard. "And?"

"He's... we think... We believe that the weapon interacted strangely with the serum... Obviously, under normal circumstances, the most we do for him is stitch something up so that it heals properly, reset a bone or two. Captain Rogers tends not to need our services." Going over known facts seemed to make the man more confident as he proceeded. "He's losing ground, but not in the way we anticipated. We think that the serum has been neutralized, at least to some degree. Temporarily, we hope."

Coulson's brow furrowed slightly. "Neutralized?"

The doctor nodded more confidently. "We're going to make sure that he's stable and then... and then we'll see about getting him settled into a room for visitation. I need to get back in there."

Though he still wasn't sure he understood the extent of what was happening, Coulson knew that Steve having his doctors at his side was the best thing and nodded before sitting down next to Stark again. He glanced at the other man. If Coulson felt uneasy at the news, he couldn't even imagine what Tony might be feeling.

Tony felt himself go cold with fear when the doctor said Steve was on life support. Then came the news that the serum wasn't working, and Tony felt certain his heart stopped. He barely heard Coulson prompt the doctor for more information or the reply. If the serum was neutralized, it meant that Steve wasn't going to be healing as fast. If at all. Tony's stomach clenched, and he had to swallow hard to keep bile from coming up.

It took him a moment to register that Coulson was looking at him. "Phil..." Tony was slouched back in his wheelchair, staring at the wall, looking gray-green and terrified. "Phil, if he doesn't make it..." He trailed off and gulped again, the tremor in his hands seeming to spread to the rest of him as he could barely finish the thought, nevermind the sentence. He wrapped his arms around himself, biting his lower lip as he worked to sort through everything.

If there had been a way to do it without it being even more awkward, Coulson would have hugged the man in that moment without reservation. As it was, he reached for Tony's hand and held it fast in his own. "He will. He has to make it." The words were for his own benefit as much as Tony's. The idea of Steve dying was not one that sat well with Coulson on any level, not the five year old who'd worn Captain America pajamas deep down inside him or the agent who'd come to think of Steve Rogers as a friend. "Have faith in him."

Natasha approached the pair warily. She didn't want to interrupt, but they looked far too grim for her not to want more information. "Have you heard anything?" she finally asked as gently as possible.

"They've got him on life support," Coulson admitted quietly. "The weapon seems to have affected the serum... they didn't give us many details. They're trying to get him stable so that he can have visitors." 

Nat heard the unspoken "if they can" in the sentence but nodded instead of calling him on it. "Good. I'd like to get the chance to thank him." Natasha smoothly took the seat next to Tony and watched the man warily before reaching out to put a hand on his thigh. It wasn't like her not to notice things, but even knowing he and Tony were messing around, she'd had no idea how deep it went. Tony looked destroyed. Just the possibility of losing Steve was enough to shake him apart. "You have to hold it together right now. He's going to need you."

It occurred to Tony, however briefly, that he was pretty profoundly lucky to have people willing to pull together for him. For Steve, as well, no doubt. Maybe moreso because of him. But it didn't really matter in the moment. "I love 'im, y'know," he muttered thickly, then took a sharp breath in, trying to gather his nerves. He looked first at Nat and then to Coulson. "Thank you. Both of you." His eyes flicked to Clint, still keeping his distance, hands in his pockets. "Even you."

A flicker of amusement passed over Clint's eyes as he gave the man a nod. "Here to help," he replied, sitting down in a nearby chair. He typically saved his touchy-feely moments for Nat, and those were rare. He trusted his presence was enough to show his support. It was hard to see Stark so shaken up. The man usually covered his stress up by being more abrasive and self-aggrandizing than usual. It was strange to see him look so broken, though the afterthought of thanks was definitely more familiar.

It was the better part of an hour before a doctor appeared again. The man looked haggard but less fearful than before. "Captain Rogers is in stable condition. We still have him on oxygen since he's having some difficulties breathing, but his heart rate is normal. We hope he'll be waking up sometime in the next few hours." The man hesitated, looking the group over. "I don't think too many visitors would be a good idea."

Coulson addressed Tony at once. "Would you like me to help you get back to the room?" 

The doctor hesitated and then added, "You should be aware that... his appearance might be a bit startling at first."

Natasha felt a chill at the words.

"What - " Tony stopped himself. Hearing a rundown of what he was about to see was probably the last thing he needed. A mix of fear and relief rattled around in him as he looked up at Coulson. "Let's go see him," he said simply. He knew Steve meant a lot to all of them, but aside from Tony, there probably wasn't anyone in the room who cared more about Steve Rogers than Coulson did. 

Understanding the consideration Tony was showing, Coulson nodded and rose, taking the helm on Tony's chair. The truth was he wasn't sure he wanted to leave the man alone to deal with whatever they would find down the hall. He met Clint's gaze briefly. "You and Natasha should get some rest. I'll let you know when we have more information or Steve is ready for more visitors."

Natasha nodded her agreement and offered the faintest of smiles. "Nice shirt." It wasn't the time for levity, but it wasn't the time to close all the shades and lose hope either. 

Coulson smiled his thanks for the levity and then started down the hall with the doctor leading the way. He always hated visiting a friend in the hospital, but he hadn't felt such a twist of fear and worry associated with a visit since he was a teenager and his father had a heart attack. //He recovered,// Phil reminded himself firmly. Steve had a few advantages over his dad if his body could get back to its usual working order. 

The doctor held the door open for the pair of them. "We're monitoring his vitals. If anything changes, myself or a nurse will be here."

It took a beat and a little deep breathing before Coulson coaxed his feet into making the last few steps into the room. If he hadn't seen Steve's full files before, he might not have recognized the frail figure on the bed. Pale and gaunt, the man lying there looked worlds away from Captain America. He'd expected a lot of things, but none of them quite measured up to the reality. Coulson willed himself to remain as calm as humanly possible and pushed Tony up to the man's bedside, wondering what the hell Stark could be thinking. The oxygen mask and the IV were bad enough, but coupled with the state of the man himself, Coulson was only barely managing to keep his own hands from shaking as he held fast to the handles of the chair.

Tony took hold of the chair's wheels and moved himself just a little closer. "Oh, god..." He'd read up on Steve's transformation, seen the before photos... He still couldn't help the strangled half-sob that came out of his mouth as he leaned against the bed, putting a hand over Steve's, careful of the IV. The blonde looked strangely delicate, felt strangely frail. Dark circles glared prominently from under Steve's eyes, and Tony reached up to stroke his lover's hair. "Please," he whispered, voice shaking, "please don't leave me." Tony shuddered, pressing his face to the mattress, his hand still over Steve's. He started to shake, and Tony was almost surprised when he started to cry quietly into the sheets. 

On the one hand, Coulson felt like he was intruding on a moment that was desperately private. On the other hand, he wasn't about to leave Tony Stark, king of self destruction, alone when he was such a mess. Instead Coulson settled for keeping quiet and looking carefully at all of the readouts around them, taking note of Steve's vitals and letting the cumulative information soothe him somewhat. The doctor was right: in a strange way, Steve was doing better if one chose not to think about the fact that he hadn't been in such poor health since the early 40s. 

Waking up hurt. It wasn't like the usual sore stiffness that came with the morning after a mission. It was like waking up underwater, like trying to breathe with a clamp around his chest. The air smelled odd, tasted strange. Steve couldn't force his eyes open at all at first. He felt something warm against his side and finally managed to pry his eyelids open to see Tony lying next to him, his shoulders shaking with sobs. Steve tried to say the man's name but couldn't find his voice. He managed to twitch his fingers in the man's grip. 

Coulson's head fell forward, relief washing over him when Steve's eyes opened. He knew the man was in for a hell of a shock, but he was alive. He was alive and waking up, and he might just be fine. "Tony," he whispered softly to draw the man's attention up again.

Tony thought he'd imagined the twitch of Steve's fingers against his hand, but Coulson's quiet whisper brought his head up like a shot. The sight of Steve's blue eyes, bleary though they were, was an immense relief. "Steve," he whispered, relief washing over his features. "Don't... don't try to talk. The mask..." Tony took a shaky breath, swiping at his face to try and make himself look a little more dignified. There were a million things Tony wanted to say at once, and it took him a minute to gather his thoughts. "First, I love you, but goddammit, if you ever do anything like this again..." Tony trailed off, his voice shaking. He remembered a moment later that, considering what the gun had done to Steve, there was a solid chance he actually *wouldn't* be doing anything like that again. "Steve..." Tony looked away, though his hand still rested on his lover's. "Steve, the serum... it's gone. For now. Probably just… uh, maybe temporary? We don’t know." 

Steve's eyes widened in sudden panic. He lifted his other hand and stared at it, blinking, as if the view might suddenly change. Steve fought for breath, but it grew harder even with the mask as the reality of what had happened settled in. Before he could even try to talk again, the doctor was entering the room again. 

"Captain Rogers, it's good to see you awake." The man took in Steve's suddenly erratic vitals and frowned. "You need to breathe slowly. It's been awhile since you had to worry about it, but you're stuck in a hell of a bronchial spasm right now. We're going to keep you on the oxygen until it relaxes, and we've given you a steroid that should help too." 

The more he woke up and the more he realized that it was real, the more Steve's heart sank. He'd imagined a lot of things that might happen while he stumbled his way through helping Natasha and Logan. He'd imagined a hundred things, and somehow the idea of being brought back to such a useless state wasn't one of them. And Tony... he couldn't understand... he had no way of knowing all the hell that went along with it. How could someone like Tony, a man who could have anyone, want to be with someone who could barely breathe on his own? The tears were falling before he even realized he was in danger of crying.

Tony felt a little bit like an ass. He feeling fairly sure there was a better way to have told Steve. Then again, just letting him figure it out on his own sounded like a terrible idea, too. Tony had no way to know all the other ideas Steve was starting to get into his head about having lost the serum, but he couldn't stand to see his lover cry. "Steve... easy, baby. We'll get through this, whatever we have to do. Bruce and I can work on something... or maybe it'll come back on its own," he soothed, wishing desperately he could pull Steve against him and hold him tight. The aesthetics weren't really a concern for Tony, but he knew Steve well enough to know that the man's spirit was too much to be relegated to a body that couldn't hold up to the sort of heroics he was inclined toward. Tony placed a hand gently on Steve's narrow shoulder. He had to fight to remind himself that it was really Steve, but the idea just made him want to take care of his lover even more. "We'll get it figured out. I'm with you, whatever happens," he promised.

"We're working on this. Right now the first thing is to keep you stable," the doctor explained as gently as he could. "The rest we worry about as step two. What you need right now is rest."

Steve managed a faint nod. He wished he had Tony's faith. He wished he was sure that the man had any idea what he was promising. It was too much. Closing his eyes tightly, he tried to let himself drift away from the moment enough to breathe. 

"We're all here for you," Coulson offered quietly. "However this turns out, SHIELD still needs you." It didn't matter what Steve's body looked like, the mind and spirit inside it were the same ones that had brought the more victories than he could count already. "The rest can work itself out."

Having only dimly registered the man's presence before, Steve opened his eyes again and tried hard to believe that he could possibly be needed in his current state. He tried to picture a way he could actually help SHIELD when he felt like such a mess. He nodded again and wished like hell he could tear the oxygen mask away and still breathe. He wanted to talk. He wanted to grab Tony and pull the man close. At the same time, he was terrified for Tony to touch or see too much, to feel the man recoil. 

The doctor nodded to the call button near Steve's hand. "I'm going to give you a little time, but you need rest." He met Coulson's gaze, not even bothering to try to convince Tony Stark to do the practical thing. "Be sure to give him some."

Coulson nodded his understanding, though he honestly had zero intention of trying to separate the pair. It got rid of the doctor. "Tony, I can wait outside if you'd like a minute."

"Please," Tony said, waiting until the door was shut behind Phil before he looked into Steve's eyes again. He gently ran a hand down Steve's chest. The blankets and sheets over him padded the touch a little, but it wasn't hard to tell that there was much less of him there than before. "Steve, I don't know what you're thinking this means about us, but I have a feeling it's negative." He looked hard into the watery blue eyes. "Stop it. I'm not leaving you. I'm not gonna stop loving you, and I'm not gonna stop trying to get the serum back, but that's for you, not for me. You got it?"

Steve's throat felt too tight to speak even without the mask in the way. He managed a short nod and shivered. He wanted so badly to believe, but he didn't know if he could. It was one thing trying to believe that Tony loved him - that had felt like a little miracle, and he'd clung to it desperately. Trying to believe that Tony loved him and didn't care that he was suddenly attached to a guy who'd be hard pressed to lift a large bag of flour was something else. Finally he couldn't take it anymore and grabbed the mask, moving it aside and taking an uncertain breath that didn't hurt as much as he'd expected it too. "I'm sorry," he managed, voice rough from tears and his dry throat. "I'm sorry, Tony."

"Hey," Tony said, reaching for the mask as if to put it back in place. He hesitated, though. "Look, don't..." He took a deep breath. He wanted to yell at Steve for being so brash, but, "You did what you needed to. What the team needed you to. I can't... I'm mad that you did it, but that's because I'm being selfish. You did the right thing." He leaned in and pressed his lips to Steve's, lingering only a moment out of fear of interfering with the man's breathing again. That much still felt like his lover, still felt normal and familiar. "We'll get through this, however we have to." He grabbed a cup with a straw from the tray and held it up for Steve to take a sip.

The kiss did more to ease Steve's panic than anything had since he woke up, and the water soothed his parched throat. "Okay. I just... don't... you don't have to stay. I want you to so much, Tony, I love you, but you don't... you don't have to." It was selfish, and he knew it, throwing in words of affection even while he was trying to absolve Tony from the promises they'd made to each other. He wanted to hold Tony close and know that they would never have to be apart. He also knew that no one on the team, no matter what they'd read in a file, would be able to understand what a mess he really was without the serum. With that said, Steve subsided for a moment and let Tony replace the oxygen mask.

Tony took extra care in securing the mask, then gave Steve a glare and poked him in the chest. "If you weren't in a hospital bed, I'd slap you," he said, then couldn't help a slightly lopsided grin. When Steve gave him a confused look, Tony looked away. "Look, you and I both know I'm... well, pretty much the worst person on the planet. I mean, as far as actually being a human being goes. The whole... See, I just... Steve, I've slept with a lot of people." He looked up and sighed, looking uncomfortable but determined at the same time. "I've slept with a lot of people, and a lot of them were really good looking, and had really nice bodies, and you and I both know I didn't exactly stick with any of them, and..." Tony took a deep breath, then finally made eye contact, his expression steely once more. "Goddammit, Steve, you should know that if this relationship was about your body, I would've slept with you a few times and then... maybe a few more times... but I damned sure wouldn't have told you I loved you and I sure as hell would not have cried all over your hospital bed in front of Phil Coulson. I love you, Steve Rogers, and you're going to have to get over that at some point."

The tears were back, but Steve could feel some of the weight lifting from his shoulders. He'd needed to hear it. Hoping for it was one thing, but hearing Tony say it and knowing that he meant it made him think that maybe he could manage even if they couldn't fix things. He couldn't speak, so he reached his hand out for Tony's and held on as tightly as he could manage. He needed every ounce of warmth and comfort his lover could offer even if he felt awful taking it when Tony should be healing himself. Steve looked around and spotted a pad on the nightstand, jerking his head toward it.

Tony got the hint, quickly delivering the notepad into Steve's hands slender hands. It felt surreal, seeing the man look so delicate, so sickly. Tony wondered how much of that was the effects of the gun and how much was just the way Steve had been before the serum. The thought just made Tony more determined. He knew it'd be a knock-down, drag-out fight to get Banner on board with going back to trying to replicate the serum. Maybe literally. //Might have to put on the suit,// he reflected with a wry grin to himself. Maybe they wouldn't need to replicate it, though. Maybe they just needed to reactivate - Tony stopped himself, realizing he was going into science mode when Steve was right there and needed him, and there might be angry orderlies coming in any moment to make Tony give Steve time to rest.

Steve held the pad up and quickly scrawled out, "You should be resting," tapping the pen against it to get Tony's attention. Maybe he was going to be stuck in bed himself for awhile, but that didn't mean he couldn't worry about Tony too. Seeing the look of skepticism on the man's face, he continued, "I'll be fine. Just need some rest. See you after you get some too." He couldn't help adding in smaller text at the bottom, "Love you."

The idea of leaving cut Tony like a knife, but he knew Steve was right. They both needed the rest. Tony risked leaning up a little to press another kiss to Steve's forehead as he held the pad in hand, smiling at the last footnote. The relaxed, caring smile was one he hadn't worn in a long, long time, but it came unbidden when Steve professed his love, even in writing. "Alright. I'll go rest. For you. Just you," he promised. He started to hand the notepad back to Steve, then stopped. He carefully tore the small corner off, the last two words Steve had written, folded it neatly, and then placed it into his wallet. "Love you, too," he returned as he did so. He pressed one more kiss to Steve's forehead, then drew back a little and quirked an eyebrow at the blonde. "You’ve gotta get out of here before I get better. I think there were plans about what I was gonna do to you once I get the stitches out," he said, winking a before he carefully rolled the wheelchair back out into the hallway with Coulson. "Any chance of catching a lift back to my room?" he asked.

Coulson smiled faintly at that. The fact that Tony was composed and looked halfway like himself again did his heart good. If Tony looked like he was handling things, it meant maybe Steve was too. "You’ve got it." He spent a few selfish seconds bemoaning the fact that Natasha's return meant Clint would be with her for the foreseeable future. He wouldn't wake up to coffee and Clint curled up on his couch and the man's surprisingly adorable, sleepy smile. He filed the thought away to think about after pretty much never and pushed Tony toward the elevator. "How's he doing?"

"Physically, as well as can be expected." Tony was quiet for a little longer than was comfortable before adding, "He's afraid I'll leave him." He looked up at Coulson, some unreadable emotion behind his expression that even Tony couldn't quite place before quickly looking away again. "He thinks I won't find him attractive if we can't get the serum back in working order." Tony slipped a hand into his pocket and absently fiddled with the wallet, thought on the folded paper inside. "I still love him. I still think he's beautiful." He took a deep breath and shifted uncomfortably, looking back up at Coulson. "Phil, sorry... I... Sorry. Just... I'm just rambling."

"Ramble all you need to," Coulson answered, smiling warmly in response. He would have been lying if he said he hadn't wondered the same thing for a few horrifying seconds. They'd passed the minute he saw Stark break down crying on the man's bed. Tony was in love - actually, really in love - and Coulson felt relatively safe in saying nothing was going to break that, at least not easily. "He's probably going to have doubts about a lot of things even when he's feeling better. It can't be easy to have your whole sense of self pulled out from under you in the space of a few minutes. He hasn't had to deal with asthma and normal aches and pains in years even if you don't count the time on ice."

Tony nodded quietly. He hadn't thought of all that. He still remembered Steve's confession, "This still feels like a loaner some days." He was already turning over in his head all the reading he was going to be doing to bring himself up to speed on what was known about the serum. And how the hell he was going to talk Bruce into helping. "Wish I could help him more," he murmured.

"Be there. That's all he'll want. Prove him wrong. You show him he's still got you. I'll show him he's got SHIELD." Coulson wheeled Tony off the elevator and into his room. "You need any help, let me know. I know I'm a pretty poor back up for Captain America, but I can make sure you eat and shower and sleep until Steve's up to baby sitting again." Left to his own devices, Coulson worried that Tony would stay up all night reading and get zero of his own healing done.

"You know, it might be slightly less insulting if you didn't say 'babysitting' to my face," Tony pointed out, though he didn't actually seem offended. "I'd take some coffee and pastries for breakfast. That means after ten because you're not Steve. And not from the chow hall. I don't know what I'm paying those chefs for, but it's apparently not good food."

Coulson nodded his agreement. The requests were startlingly reasonable considering their source. "Doable. But I'm sleeping on the couch, and you aren't staying up all night. You're going to rest. Tomorrow you can talk to Bruce. Yeah, I can see the wheels turning from here." He smiled almost apologetically. "I'd say I'm sorry, but Steve needs you to take care of yourself right now. Since I'm moderately certain you can't, I'll help."

"Well, this is very deja vu," Tony sulked as he took over the chair and wheeled himself towards the bedroom. "At least you didn't threaten to tase me while looking unnervingly excited at the prospect. I guess we all grow up a little, Coulson." Stopping at his bedroom door, he twisted in his chair. "Supernanny's on channel twelve. No raspberry scones, and there's probably nothing in the fridge, but you're welcome to whatever you find. And stay out of my scotch." With that, he disappeared into his room.

Coulson couldn't help smiling. Stark was an abrasive asshole sometimes, but he wasn't a bad guy. He hid it well much of the time. Though he had no intention of stealing Tony's scotch, Coulson did rummage around and assemble a sandwich with the ingredients from Tony's kitchen. He was beginning to wonder if the man was really as incapable a cook as he often professed. Judging by the level of gourmet ingredients he kept on hand, it looked like he could not only cook but cook well. He filed the information away and stretched out on the couch to eat his sandwich and attempt relaxation for a few hours before he had to go into Tony's room and find a way to make the man sleep.

It was a typical knock-down, drag-out argument to get Tony to sleep that ultimately did end in threats of taser application and Phil removing everything that used a wireless signal and wasn't bolted down from the room. It was another hour of laying there, awake, turning ideas over in his head before he finally drifted off. In spite of his warnings to Coulson, Tony woke around 8:30 and laid there another thirty minutes before he finally got up and started making himself human. He was wheeling himself into the living area just as Coulson walked in with food and coffee. "I woke myself up. Food can go on the table. I don't like being handed things."

"I know. Only Pepper can get away with such blatant disrespect for the laws of Stark." He'd gotten a call from the woman the night before. Apparently she'd heard through the grapevine a version of what happened. He'd filled in the blanks. Pepper wasn't officially part of the SHIELD chain of security and intelligence, but he didn't care. The truth was that Pepper Potts was probably more trustworthy than Stark most of the time. He set the food on the table and grabbed his own coffee from the tray, taking a seat and waiting for Tony to join him. "Got a text from the medical staff. Steve should be off the oxygen by the time we get down. He did better overnight."

Tony sagged a little with relief. Hopefully that meant that Steve was out of the woods as far as possibly dying, at least. Getting the serum to work or recreating it might be another story altogether, but if Steve was healing up from the gun's effects on his own - even if it was at a standard human pace - that meant that they had time and didn't have to rush a solution. "I messaged Bruce last night. Our discussion ended in him blocking my phone number, so I'll need yours later. But that can wait," Tony said. He wasn't going to let Banner off the hook that easily. Bruce probably knew that. Tony quickly stuffed a few pastries into his mouth and then settled back into his wheelchair. It was getting easier to move around even without it, but it also amused Tony to make Coulson wheel him around, so he hammed it up a little as he settled back into the chair. "Driver, I'm ready to go!"

Coulson stared directly back at the other man and continued to eat at a normal human pace until Tony got completely disgusted. Finally he relented with a hint of a smile. Coulson gathered his coffee to drink while he likely sat waiting outside the room again. He knew Tony wasn't helpless. He also knew Tony didn't do well alone in times of crisis, so he pitched in as Stark's chauffeur service without complaint. Knowing that Steve was on the mend made his morning a few thousand times better, and he knew it did the same for Tony. They found most of the staff they encountered downstairs looking far less harried and far more rested. Some of them even smiled as they made their way to Steve's room. Outside the door, Coulson leaned against the wall. "Go on. We both know who he wants to see."

In the harsh light of a new day, Steve felt his stomach knot with fear all over again. It felt like the other shoe had to drop at some point. He found it hard to imagine losing everything the serum had given him and not losing Tony too. Instead of lying prone with the mask on his face, the bed's incline had been brought up so that he could sit. He'd spent a lot of the morning sketching, too tense to focus on reading anything and too nervous to put up with the stupidity that made up most morning television. Steve tried not to freak out at the sound of the door. Another asthma attack wasn't how he wanted to start the day. "Hi," he called out, smile wan but still there.

Tony was relieved to see Steve sitting up and wearing a smile instead of a mask, even if the expression was uncertain. Tony's was far less so. The second the door latched, he stood and walked to Steve's bed, settling on the edge of it. "I'm pretty much fine to walk now,” he assured when he caught the look on Steve’s face, “but don't tell Coulson. He's my limo driver until I'm 'better'," he said, mischief in his eyes. When Steve didn't seem to perk up much at the humor, Tony sobered as well. "Hey." He leaned in when the blonde looked up, pressing a slow, gentle kiss to his lips. "You look terrified." The observation was meant, of course, to invite whatever venting Steve needed to do.

"Sorry," Steve murmured with a sigh. He followed Tony's lips and couldn't resist stealing another quick kiss. It felt good, and he let some of the tension fall away from his shoulders. "I am, though. Terrified. I can't stop thinking that the things that matter the most to me are all about to change. How am I supposed to expect you to sit here waiting? This might never be okay, Tony. I know you and Bruce, you can do damn near anything, but this is..." Steve tried to stop himself from speaking. There were worries a lot more basic than that on his mind. He shifted uneasily and then shrugged one slim shoulder. "Plus I was thinking that maybe yesterday with the bad light and the mask and... that maybe you didn't see just how bad this is. So maybe you'd freak out a little today. And that makes me feel like I'm going to freak out a little."

"Steve..." The tone was soothing, insistent. Tony ruffled Steve's hair, then ran his hand gently down the side of his lover's neck, over one lean shoulder, his arm, down to his hand. It was hard to get used to. It wasn't the Steve Tony was familiar with, and he took several moments to absorb the drastic change. It was shocking, but not in the sense that Steve likely feared. It just hurt Tony to know that his lover was trapped in a body that didn’t fit his spirit. He looked up at Steve as he rested a hand over the blonde's. "Steve, for one, I've read your file, just like I read everyone else's. It came with pictures. I already knew what to expect. I won't lie and tell you that this won’t take some getting used to for me, but that doesn't mean I'm about to run screaming. For another," he pulled Steve's hand to his lips, "I'm not going to sit here waiting because there's nothing to wait for. The gun didn't kill you. It took something away, something we're going to try to get back, but you're still here, and I'm not losing you over this. Serum or not."

Steve's chest rose and fell as he let Tony explore. Terrified as it made him, he didn't try to stop the man. It wouldn't be fair to. If he wanted Tony to have any chance at acceptance, then first he had to be able to get to know what he was accepting. "I just want to go home." Anymore, home was where Tony was. Home was going to bed by Tony's side and feeling his lover's heart beating against his ear. //And that doesn't have to change,// Steve reminded himself as he tried to take a full breath. It was easier than it had been the day before. He gestured to the nightstand. "They gave me an inhaler. Lots of meds. Probably stuff I would've been on a long time ago if I'd had the money to go to the doctor for any of it and, well, all of it had existed. I really want to get the hell out of this room."

Tony nodded, smiling faintly. "See, now you know how I felt," he said, giving his lover a wink. "I'll see if I can argue with the doc to get you out of here," he said, looking at the mass of medications. Allergy pills, asthma meds, a few other things Tony couldn't even recognize. //God. He must've been so sick.// Tony realized that it was probably Steve's strength of will that had even let him survive to adulthood with the kind of medical problems he'd had, especially with no doctor. His gaze fixed on Steve. "I want you home, too." He pressed a few soft kisses to Steve's lips. "Coulson's been on my couch, making sure I sleep. I think I'd rather just have you in my bed." He pushed himself off the edge of the gurney and went back to his wheelchair. "I'll be right back. If you hear yelling, it means I'm negotiating the terms of your release."

Without waiting for an answer, Tony moved out to the hallway. Catching Coulson's eye, Tony tilted his head. "So, what're the odds of us getting him out of this place and back to my room? I feel like he'd be less likely to freak out and have an asthma attack someplace he was familiar and comfortable with."

There was a certain logic to that. A logic that Coulson doubted the doctors would agree with. Still, he pushed himself away from the wall. "You might owe some people some new radiology equipment or something." Coulson headed down the hall, determined to find someone who could get Steve out. He didn't trust Tony to see to his own health, but he knew that the man wouldn't push Steve. If Tony thought he was ready to leave, he probably was. It took longer than Coulson would have liked, but eventually he made his way back to Steve's room to find Tony at the man's bedside again. He couldn't help smiling at the pair of them sitting together looking comforted just by the proximity. "I've secured a release date." It was worth it just to see Steve smile and look like he really, actually meant it. "The deal is you have to stay with Tony and you have to keep on schedule with your meds. Thankfully not a single doctor was willing to imply that Steve Rogers would refuse to follow the rules."

Steve could barely begin to express his gratitude. "I owe you. Big. Like, waxing Lola for a year or..." He shook his head, still smiling, and gave Tony's hand a squeeze. 

"You're smiling. I'm pretty okay with that as payment. Stark, stop pretending you need the seat and vacate." Coulson gestured to Steve. "He needs it more."

"You knew all this time? Wait, of course you did," Tony said, leaving the wheelchair behind. It was sobering to think that Steve would need it at all, nevermind that he needed it more than Tony. Still, Tony was too happy that Steve was going to be in his bed again soon to let it dampen his mood much. He made sure the brakes were set on the chair, then raised an eyebrow at Steve. "Need a hand?" Tony had to fight the urge to coddle his lover. He knew it wouldn't do Steve any favors to treat him like he was made of glass. He also didn't want Steve to think that Tony was unwilling to help him in any way he could.

Steve eyed the chair. "No, I'm fine. I don't need the-"

"Doctor's orders. You're in the chair until you're up to Tony's room. Then I pretend that I haven't seen you doing anything at all that you shouldn't be doing," Coulson assured. "Just play along for a few minutes." 

Steve rolled his eyes but gathered his meds into a bag and climbed out of bed and into the chair. He still felt shaky and strange, but Steve knew that might be how much weaker he felt overall. It was hard to get a bead on normal when his whole world and body felt so far from it. "Maybe the chair isn't a terrible idea," he allowed. The sooner he was back up in Tony's room, the better he knew he'd feel. "Let's get upstairs. Please?" 

Coulson waved them ahead. "I've got the paperwork. You two get out of here before someone notices."

Relieved to be taking Steve out of there, Tony grasped the wheelchair handles and did as he was told for once. Knowing the tower as he did, Tony managed to whisk Steve back up to his room with no one the wiser. The moment he got in the door, he leaned down and kissed Steve slow and deep before drawing away. "Welcome home," he said with a smile and a grand sweep of his hand. "Need anything to eat? Coffee?"

Steve climbed out of the chair and felt better just for the fact of moving under his own power. He felt drained and weak and more than slightly ridiculous with a body that didn’t feel entirely like his, but at least he was home. At least Tony was the only one there watching him instead of a whole crew of doctors and nurses staring at him like they expected him to make a run for the window and jump. "Yes to both." He hesitated and then closed the distance between them, sliding his arms around Tony's waist. It was hard, the sudden difference, the feeling of being shorter and smaller than the man, but it would have been harder to not hold him just to avoid the reality. "I just need you for a minute first, okay?"

Tony couldn't deny how odd it was to pull Steve against him and have the man's head resting against his chest, but he gladly gathered his lover close, hooking his chin protectively over Steve's head. "I'll even throw in an extra minute since you're a regular customer," Tony said, pressing a kiss to blonde hair. Tony realized after a minute that he was so desperate to make sure Steve was comfortable that he was scared to death of doing or saying the wrong thing, of hurting or upsetting Steve. Trying to calm his nerves, Tony offered, "I can make an omelette. Or pancakes. I think I've got some sandwich materials around, too."

"Pancakes," Steve agreed, reluctantly drawing back from the embrace. He knew it wouldn't always feel wrong or strange. He didn't want to get used to being the man he'd left behind, but Steve knew that he could with Tony's help. "I'll make us some coffee if you handle the food." He felt better moving around Tony's kitchen doing something boring and normal. Catching the tension on Tony's face, Steve caught the man's wrist and gave a gentle tug. "I know this is weird, but I'm not going to break. I don't want you to either."

Tony smiled, twisting his wrist loose just to catch Steve's and pull him in for another quick kiss. "Then it's a deal," he decided, "No breaking." Tony made sure to throw some bacon in a skillet to begin slowly sizzling as he gathered materials for the pancakes. He had to remind himself that he didn't have to cook for six people; Steve likely wouldn't need as much as even Tony did. "You better make that coffee good and strong. Phil went to the wrong coffee place, so I didn't get the good stuff this morning. He's a terrible babysitter."

"He's an amazing friend," Steve countered. He was grateful to the man for his kindness and for being there for Tony when he couldn't be. "But I can do industrial strength coffee." He found himself watching Tony intently and searching for any signs of tension or uncertainty. "Think there's a chance they'll let me get away with hiding up here with you for a day or two? Facing everybody right now... I just... I'm still progressing. I'm not sure how to tell the team they're in the market for a new leader yet."

Tony stopped, setting the milk down and turning to look at Steve, arms crossed over his chest. "You're ready to write yourself off that fast?" His brow furrowed, and he tilted his head. "Doesn't sound like the Steve Rogers I know. Or the one that got signed up for the program in the first place." He pressed his lips together into a thin line. "You can stay up here as long as you want. I'll even have Phil run interference. But... I need you to not give up." He quirked a faint smile. "If nothing else, I'll take Rhodie's suit back, make a few adjustments for you. It's all spangly, too."

Steve chuckled at the visual and then shook his head. "Best case scenario, I'd probably break something." He was still smiling when he explained, "I'm not giving up, but I also know that right now, I can't go out in the field and take the hits. I can coordinate, I can help, but I can't be the leader they're going to need right now." Steve nudged his lover in the ribs with his elbow and added, "Bet you can be, though."

Tony gave Steve an amused look, assuming he was joking. "Yeah, I'm sure SHIELD could get behind that. 'Impulsive, problems with authority...' Some other not nice things. I think they said I don't play well with others. And I can just imagine trying to get Barton to do what I tell him to," he pointed out as he went back to mixing pancakes. "Maybe we could talk Bruce into it. If I can ever get him to talk to me again."

Steve winced. He could just imagine what Bruce was feeling in the wake of everything, what Tony might have said to him. "Give him a little space, okay?" Steve heard his phone chime and retrieved it from the counter, humming softly. "Meeting in thirty with Fury. I... I think I'm gonna sit this one out. Tell them I have a note from my doctor." He lay the phone down on the counter again and crossed his arms as he regarded Tony more seriously. "I meant what I said: you could take over. It may not be forever, but the Avengers need a leader who can go out there and get it done."

Tony sighed, plating pancakes and putting them on the table. "Steve, I'm not used to taking care of other people. Not like that. Not when everything I decide could get them killed. Or I might have to tell them to get themselves killed. I can do that to myself, but..." Tony settled in front of his plate, still looking uncomfortable. "I'll bring it up. Maybe Fury's lost his mind in the past three days. That's the only way I can see him allowing it."

"Never hurts to ask." Steve heard his phone buzz again and picked it up, scowling at the words on the screen. "A warning from Fury that he knows the doctor cleared me. Looks like I'm in after all." Steve tried hard not to look like he was pouting as he ate the pancakes, but he really wasn't ready to face everyone.

"I'll be with you," Tony promised quietly. Putting his fork down, he reached out to take Steve's hand, giving him a reassuring stare. He realized he was scared, and realized a moment after that that he was scared for Steve. It didn't matter how accepting the team was, they'd no doubt be shocked. Fortunately, Tony was the only one who was catastrophically terrible - with some vague competition from Clint, admittedly - at handling delicate situations, and he'd already managed to not be a complete ass about it. He wasn't going to tolerate anyone having anything less than kind to say to Steve.

 

Steve actually let himself smile as Tony took his hand. The simple gesture helped. He nodded slowly. "You'll be with me," he repeated, glancing down at the dull gray sweats that he got issued in medical. "And I guess I do meetings in sweats now because there's not a damn other thing that's going to fit." He sighed and actually laughed at the ridiculousness of such a small practical concern. "Maybe we can go shopping this afternoon? I wouldn't mind having something other than this to wear at some point."

Tony quirked a faint smile. "That look works just fine for Barton. And now the secret of his fashion success is out: medical. But yeah, we can get you something else. You could always borrow one of my t-shirts to mix it up until then." Tony was pretty sure that even his clothes would be too big for Steve, but the idea of the blonde in a baggy Iron Maiden shirt actually made him smile a little. It was reassuring in a way that Steve was focusing on practical concerns. It meant that he wasn't as preoccupied with his physical state as he had been. //Little steps.//

"Yeah, that could work." Steve was pretty sure he'd have better luck raiding Coulson's wardrobe, but the truth was that finding out he was actually too small to borrow shirts from even Coulson would be a blow he wasn't ready for. "A shirt would be good. It's the strangest thing: Clint Barton is actually not my fashion icon." Tony wasn't either, sharp as he looked most of the time. Steve liked his own odd, dated style. Tony could call him an old man as much as he wanted: it made Steve feel like at least some things didn't have to change completely. "You make pretty good pancakes, by the way." Under the table, he let his foot find Tony's and knock against it. "Thanks."

"Don't tell anyone, but I actually almost know how to cook." That was an understatement, but Tony didn't want people to start expecting him to actually take care of himself. He let his feet tangle pleasantly with Steve's for a few minutes. Steve's personality was big enough that Tony could easily forget that he'd more or less lost a hundred pounds overnight. "I'll be right back." He returned a moment later with a Pink Floyd shirt and passed it over. It was one of Tony's tighter shirts, but he didn't bother to mention that to Steve. "Here. We'll get you a nice goatee going, and you'll be on track to being a fashion icon in no time."

"I'm going to have to politely decline that offer," Steve answered. He hesitated for a moment before peeling off the sweat shirt and replacing it with Tony's. Tony hadn't seen him shirtless anywhere but in photos, not in his current state, and Steve couldn't quite bring himself to watch his lover's face as he changed. It was an old fear rearing its head. Steve knew he'd have plenty of those to work through, but it wasn't going to happen all at once. The shirt hung predictably loose, but it was worn and comfortable and smelled like Tony's laundry detergent. "Thanks. This is definitely better." He knew he probably still looked like a kid wearing his dad's clothes.

Steve looked a little goofy in the shirt, but it made Tony grin in an absurdly adoring fashion. "I like it," he said, nodding his approval. It had been a little jarring to see Steve shirtless, but reassuring as well. Tony had been worried that he'd freak out somehow, that he'd handle it all the wrong ways, but it was fine. He tugged Steve up into a slow kiss, trying to get used to having to lean down to capture the blonde's lips. It still felt good kissing him, though. No change in size could ever alter that. Tony smiled. "Love you."

"Love you too," Steve answered with a lot more of his usual certainty. That was one thing he knew. He knew how badly he wanted everything to work with Tony. Even if it meant stretching up to kiss him and drowning in the man's shirts instead of things being the other way around. Steve breathed in the scent of the other man and then broke away to help Tony clean up from breakfast. "Okay. Meeting. We can do this, right? I can do this." The last of the dishes went into the washer, and Steve grabbed Tony's collar and gave an annoyingly ineffectual tug that still brought him in close because apparently Tony still wanted to be close, and he thanked god for that. "I don't think I believe me. Tell me I can do this."

Tony cupped Steve's face and pulled him upwards for a long, slow kiss that might've been a bit more intense than appropriate considering they were about to walk out the door. "You can do this. *We* can do this. And if anyone feels the need to act like an ass, I'll adjust them." Realistically, without his suit, Tony was probably going to be the least capable person in the room aside from Steve, but he was also pretty sure that a few sharp words would be all it would take to quell any notions anyone might have of being less than respectful to their leader.

Steve laughed and held Tony tight for a few seconds more. "I love you." He drew himself up to full height - not exactly an impressive thing anymore - and took Tony's hand as they walked down the hall. People were going to stare anyway. He saw no reason not to give them the full show. Steve's fingers twisted up with the other man's, and that helped. It helped to have Tony still by his side and still looking at him like he mattered. Entering the conference room took his breath away for a minute, but Steve managed to return Coulson's warm smile. He was suddenly glad that the man had been there in medical. Coulson already knew, had already seen, and was passing him a file with a few forms needing signatures like it was any other meeting. "Thank you," he said with genuine gratitude as he took his usual seat next to Tony and tried to avoid Fury's gaze for the most part.


	3. Painful Defeat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An interlude in which Loki is really put out with the whole situation.

The pain was horrific, but it was honestly nothing compared to how embarrassing it was to lose to the Avengers again when he was so close. The team had been fractured, well beyond the point where he thought they had any chance of managing so cohesive a defense. And of course it had been the archer. Loki seethed quietly at that, the idea that a mortal who had been his servant, had been so willing to give in to his every whim, had been the one to break him down. 

Instead of a stronghold of power, their temporary base felt like a cell. Every time he moved, Loki's broken ribs reminded him of the damage that the hammer could do. It was a power that was his to wield, not theirs. Breaking them wasn't enough, obviously. They would have to be disposed of more permanently. The Avengers were becoming a very frustrating liability.

 

Victor was surprised to catch Loki sulking in the command center. The god usually did that elsewhere. "Aren't you a god? Can't you just magic that stuff back to normal?" He was referring to Loki's ribs, of course. "I figured you'd be more capable than me at that sort of thing, at least," he taunted. Victor was smart enough to know that Loki could probably wish him out of existence pretty easily. He also was smart enough to know that Magneto was a pretty big ally of Loki's at the moment, and that the god knew better than to piss Erik off by killing off mutants. He leaned against the door frame and crossed his arms, looking amused. In the relative security of the base, he'd foregone his usual coat in exchange for a simple undershirt, fatigue pants, and bare feet. "You get anything from Jimmy or his boytoy?"

"Not what I needed," Loki answered, working through a strong desire to reduce Creed to ash for being a smug bastard. "Not nearly what I needed." The instinct to kill Creed passed slowly, and he broke his gaze away from the mutant to give it a moment to move entirely from his mind. Erik would be less than pleased if he destroyed one of the man's favorite toys. "Asgardian weapons affect me differently. It will be days even with my not inconsiderable skills." The whole thing was humiliating and infuriating to the highest degree. "Do you have anything constructive to add, or shall I assume you're comfortable with the idea of me tearing you limb from limb to ease my nerves?"

Victor looked entirely calm about the threat. "Maybe you're bein' too indirect?" he suggested. He actually smirked faintly at the sharp look he got from the god. "I mean, elaborate plans are great, but maybe you should just kill a few of 'em. Or some good ol' fashioned torture. I could help with that. I'm good at it," he said, smirking. "Especially that little shit agent of theirs and his pet archer. Or the little bastard in the tin can. Like to see how he'll do without his spangly sidekick."

"Rather what I've been thinking, actually," Loki agreed, sounding surprised that they might be on the same page. "We'll give them time. Enough to think they're safe. Enough for us to find the best way to make sure they're not." Loki paced back and forth despite the way it jostled his ribs. "Coulson and the archer are first. Barton and his pet agent are trying my patience. You'd think killing the man once would be sufficient."

"Funny how people think it only takes once," Victor said, faintly amused. He wondered how long it took the X-Men to figure out that heaving him off a high cliff hadn't done much in the way of killing him. "Well, let me know when we're ready to move. I'd love to finish what I started on Stark, and that shitbird archer, too."

Loki smiled, feeling the first hint of amusement he had since things went so wrong at the SHIELD base. "I do love the way that you think, Victor. Don't worry, you won't miss a moment of the action. I may even give you a bit of play time all your own for helping me so much." The god drew himself up to full height and ignored the aching of his ribs. "We aren't done with the Avengers yet."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just an interlude, so I'll also post a legit chapter in a bit.


	4. Girl Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nat and Clint have some bro time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No smut, just friendship and sweetness.

"He's right - we need rest. I need rest," Natasha added quietly. She sighed and looked Clint over. Considering what they'd all been through, he didn't look too bad. //Coulson's been taking good care of him.// The thought amused her, but she kept it to herself. "Now is the perfect time for a terrible movie and a long nap. Your place or mine?" She was too tired to want to engage in any of their more athletic stress relief activities, but Clint's warm, familiar presence sounded like the the perfect balm for her frayed nerves and tired body.

Clint couldn't help but smile a little. As rarely as they got to enjoy each other on a more physical level, it was even more uncommon that they got to simply enjoy each other's company. "I think that sounds great. We'll go with your place. Mine is a mess." It sounded amazing to get a chance to let his brain unwind a bit, maybe pass out on Nat's couch. 

"I'm shocked," Natasha answered in the same tone someone might use when observing that water was wet. She was happy to be back in her own room even if she put very little in it apart from what she needed. It wasn't personal. There were few touches in it that identified it as belonging to anyone in particular, but it was always orderly and comfortable. In her room, Natasha felt an uncluttered sort of calm that afforded her a measure of sanity between the chaos of missions. "Pick a movie," she urged Clint, "I'm going to shower. Alone," she added firmly. "I've been wearing the same clothes for almost two days, and it's disgusting."

With relaxation in mind, Clint fished out a copy of Ghostbusters and threw it in the DVD player. Nat didn't have a huge TV; just the one SHIELD had issued with all the rooms. It was adequate, all she needed. Clint let the opening credits get by before pausing it. He rummaged through the kitchenette, having to dig deep before he found a box of microwave popcorn with one packet left in it. He was pretty sure it was the same box he'd brought by months ago for them to eat together during movies, most of which hadn't been actually watched. Clint sighed and threw the popcorn in the microwave. He'd done nothing most of the day, but he still felt exhausted.

Natasha emerged from the bathroom wearing a camisole top and sleep pants. She smiled at the smell of popcorn and the sight of Clint waiting patiently for it to finish popping. She grabbed them a couple of sodas from the fridge knowing neither of them would stay awake through more than five minutes of the movie otherwise. They were too fried. Nat stretched, rolled her head on her neck to work out the kinks, and grabbed a bowl. "Toss the popcorn in here and let's do this." Soon enough they were curling up on the couch side by side. It was a different sort of intimate than their usual encounters, but not in a bad way. As the movie began and they took to sipping soda and eating popcorn like they were teenagers instead of covert agents for a powerful government agency, Natasha couldn't help but ask, "So what were you and Phil up to this morning?"

Oblivious to the implications of the question and assuming Nat was making small talk, Clint shrugged. "Not much. Had breakfast, checked on the science bros, had lunch with Steve, then caught a stupid 80s movie and fed some ducks," he said. It sounded weirdly normal in his head. The turn the day had taken was business as usual for SHIELD but seemed insane with any thought actually given to it. Clint made a point not to. He also avoided mentioning the fact that he'd slept on Phil's couch due to nightmares.

Nat made a hum of understanding and let silence fall again. "I don't think I've ever seen him that dressed down." She glanced over at Clint, trying to get a bead on it. The casual delivery didn't seem forced. //Boys are ridiculous,// she thought with an internal groan of frustration. Hoping to at least get a smile out of the other man, she added, "Or wearing your face on his chest."

Clint had the decency to blush a little at that, but mostly because the mention of the shirt reminded him of the related conversation centered around boxers and pajamas. "Yeah, uh, apparently I have merchandise," he said, looking a little sheepish. "We were trying to stay casual. Trying to keep from going crazy. One of our best friends was in jail, and I wasn't even allowed to see her without handcuffs, soooo... we got a little stir crazy. But, yeah... uh, apparently there're boxers and PJs, too. I'm blaming Stark."

"It's probably his fault." She smiled slowly, "Though I may have consulted on one or two of the designs." Natasha grabbed another handful of popcorn and let herself enjoy the relaxation of the moment. It wasn't time for the heavier conversations they needed to have. Judging by the way Clint had held onto her like she was the most precious thing in the world when they met up, those conversations needed to happen soon. Clint meant far too much to her to hurt him through negligence, especially when she was ignoring things on purpose. It was easier to ignore them. If she could make sure he was taken care of, was with someone who could give him what he needed... well, that would change things quite a bit. It might even keep Clint from breaking. "You two should do that more often. Coulson doesn't leave his office enough."

Clint nodded, idly munching popcorn. "Yeah, we actually talked about maybe doing some camping and fishing. I might have to talk him into the boar hunting, though," he said with a wry grin. "He apparently thinks that shooting at an animal that can tear your legs off isn't very relaxing." He shook his head. "Some people. Just can't get them to try things before they decide they won't like them." 

Natasha let her smile broaden at the words, glad to hear that the pair were bonding. She supposed there was one other option, but given that she hadn't seen him all day, it sounded like a long shot. "What about the other one?" she asked, clarifying, "The tall one with the nice ass?" Of course Natasha remembered Darien's name, but that didn't mean she cared what it was. Unless Clint actually cared, it didn't matter. She wasn't likely to see him anywhere but passing by in the halls, which might prove awkward for Darien, but she didn't particularly care one way or another. Natasha wondered how Clint would take her casually equating his interactions with both men. For someone who'd known her for so long, sometimes it was surprisingly easy to pull Clint's strings.

The equation didn't go unnoticed, and Clint twisted his head slowly to look at Nat, eyebrow raised. "Haven't seen him in a couple of days..." A beat. "Wait, 'other one'? Are you..." His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Nat, are you doing that girl thing again? The one where you read everything into little dumb things and make connections that don't exist?" He paused and sat up straighter. "Oh, god. You think I'm dating Phil Coulson."

Natasha didn't even pause eating her popcorn at Clint's offended tone. "You're the one who sounds like a teenage girl right now, Clint," she pointed out with a raised eyebrow. It had gotten more or less the reaction she expected. It was good that at least he got the implication. It was also good to know that the pretty one was off the table. He was nice to look at, but he didn't seem like more than a fling. She tilted her head and regarded Clint entirely instead of looking at the screen. "I didn't say I was reading into anything. And I didn't say you were dating Coulson. I believe you just suggested it, actually." She shrugged and popped another piece of the popcorn into her mouth. "Would that really be so weird?"

Clint sighed and sagged back against the couch. "That's right. You don't do the girl thing. You do the manipulative spy thing," he remembered. He looked at Nat. "You've gotta tell me when you're going to use your scary mind powers on me. That's not fair." When she kept looking at him expectantly, he shrugged. "I... guess it never crossed my mind? I mean, he's the handler, I'm the asset. Sometimes I sleep on his office couch, and he makes good coffee. He's nice and all," //and has a pretty amazing bulge in his PJs//, "but I don't really date..." He said, trailing off self-consciously. The one person he'd considered dating was sitting next to him, pushing him at someone else, and he couldn't decide if he resented that or found it sort of amusing.

"Mmm hmm," Natasha agreed, "I've noticed. I think the thing you're overlooking is that I don't date. You simply haven't dated." It was an important distinction. She could see it in Clint, the yearning for something to hold onto in the strange whirlwind that was their lives. She'd seen him looking at Tony and Steve and not just leering at how hot they were together but gazing fondly at their new connection. "Not pushing. I don't know if he'd be interested either. It's not exactly a state secret that he's bi, but it doesn't mean you're his type. Just something to think about since you said you haven't." The blush on Clint's cheeks as he'd started talking about it said otherwise, but Natasha had enough tact not to call him on his lies when it wasn't necessary for effect. 

 

Clint's eyebrows raised a little. "Uh, he's bi?" When he got a nod, it suddenly got more awkward that he'd been running around in Phil's suite in nothing but his underwear and a t-shirt, and the fact that the guy had seen video of them- //Speaking of which.// "Did you know he, uh..." Clint cleared his throat, as his voice seemed to have gone up a little in pitch. "He had to monitor me after the whole thing with Loki, and apparently he... You know... he knows about the women's underwear," he finally finished in almost a whisper, looking away and turning as red as he ever got.

Natasha broke out laughing at that. "He didn't until you told him," she corrected. "We did that in my room, remember? And I killed all the feeds in here years ago." She punctuated the words by shaking her head at how oblivious someone so observant could be. "And, yes, he's bi. Ran into him on a date one night." She shrugged casually as if they always discussed Coulson's sex life. "The guy was cute, I guess. Nothing special."

Clint was busy smacking his forehead. //It was a bluff...// He grimaced a little before tuning in to Nat's words. He frowned at her assessment of Coulson's date. "So you're trying to say I'm way sexier than anything he's ever picked up," he deadpanned, the faintest hint of humor in his eyes. He shifted uneasily a moment later, wondering why they were still going down this rabbit hole when he wasn't that invested in the idea. "Don't you think he's a little old for me? And that it's a little weird considering he watched everything that happened in my bedroom for, like, six months? I mean, not that I'm not for transparency in a relationship, but... I can't imagine that being anything but painfully uncomfortable."

"Yeah, knowing what your partner wants in bed is hell," she replied dryly. She'd never had much shame when it came to sex. The last time she checked neither did Clint. "He is older," Natasha allowed, "but you're older than me, and I haven't kicked you out of bed yet." She was pleased that while Clint wasn’t jumping blindly on the bandwagon, he really was analyzing the idea. That was a better sign than acceptance or rejection from Clint. "Experience can be a turn on. Especially when the guy is hung like a horse."

Clint had to focus with all his might to keep from choking horribly on his popcorn. He held up a hand while he dragged the end table trash can over and coughed a half-chewed mouthful of food into it. Tears in his eyes from the ordeal, he looked up at Nat, eyes wide and brow furrowed. "Okay, h-how do you know," he cleared his throat, "How do you know he's... 'Cause, I mean, I might've noticed under circumstances I'm keeping to myself, but..."

"If you can stop choking for a few seconds," Natasha replied as if the entire scene hadn't been one of the funniest things she'd seen in months. Clint was surprisingly easy to wind up. Pleasantly so, really. "Better? You sure?" She caught Clint's eye and nodded slowly once he affirmed his readiness. "Well, I told you I knew he liked guys because I ran into him when he was out on a date with one. Finding out he likes girls was a lot more... direct."

Clint was still wheezing. He was pretty sure that one of those god awful kernel husk thingies was lodged somewhere in his airway. Nat's next comment didn't do anything to help. "Tash..." He coughed, rattling in a way that would've been frightening if it weren't for the fact that he knew it was just fucking popcorn. "Tash, please tell me that's not also how he figured out the women's underwear thing, or I'm gonna start feeling a lot less special," he choked out, eyes still watering a little.

"It was just the once," Natasha explained, tone casual. She acted as if it was nothing strange at all to confess that she'd slept with their handler. "There wasn't a lot of time to find out much about kinks or I'd give you a heads up. Just in case." Natasha continued eating, ignoring Clint sputtering and looking as if he was going to pass out any second. "It was a slow mission, a long night... it wasn't a big deal."

Clint sagged back against the couch, looking like his mind was completely blown. "I... not a big deal? So, you did Coulson on a mission, and that... I can't... and why do I need a heads-up about kinks?" he asked, his mind finally catching up to the first half of the conversation. "I did not decide I was dating Coulson. That was a theoretical conversation. A really awkward one." Clint was pretty sure he'd need a few days before it was possible to make eye contact with his handler.

"Whatever. Friends give friends a heads up about that kind of thing. If I knew I'd tell you. In case. Theoretically," Natasha agreed in the same mild tone as before. She stretched her legs out and set her empty can of soda aside. Leveling Clint with a mock serious stare, Nat put a hand on his knee. "You do know I wasn't a virgin when we met, right?" Laughing softly, she sat back against the couch and shook her head. "It wasn't a big deal. He was more embarrassed about it than I was. Something about it being unprofessional. It was cute."

Clint couldn't help but laugh a little about that. He had to deal with his own jealousy issues regarding their far from monogamous relationship. It just felt weird knowing that she and Coulson had slept together and that Clint had never caught onto it. //Well, I guess I don't see everything,// he thought with a smirk. "Poor guy. I bet none of the other agents believed him, either," he remarked with a smirk. While Phil Coulson was hardly bad on the eyes - and apparently he was hung - he also didn't strike a person as the sort who'd be able to convince Nat to sleep with them. At least, not without some thought. Coulson had nerves of steel and enough confidence to stand up to gods, so in a way it made perfect sense. //Still awkward.// "I'm still going to have to fight to look him in the eye for the next few days."

Natasha snorted at that. "Boys. Here I thought he'd at least get a high five out of the deal." She clicked the movie off since they were summarily ignoring it anyway and stretched her legs out over Clint's lap. Tone and expression more serious, Natasha regarded the man at her side. "I am sorry if it makes things weird. I would have said something sooner if I thought it mattered." Natasha smiled fondly at Clint. "I just want you to be happy. Really happy."

When she rested her legs over his, he grabbed one of her feet and started to run his fingers over the arch, trying to soothe the no doubt tired, sore muscles. He looked up at the last words. "I appreciate it," he said, his smile turning a little sad. He wanted to tell her that she could do exactly that, but he knew better. He knew what the answer would be. They both did. He pressed his lips together and focused on rubbing her feet. "I guess it's alright. Just kind of... I think I will give him a high-five actually. Make the bastard blush," Clint decided.

That was the Clint that she knew, and Natasha smiled. "I wish I could get a video of the look on his face when you say something. I already missed out getting yours." She sighed at her own lack of preparedness. "I really am tired if I missed an opportunity like that. Speaking of which, I need sleep. You can stay. I'd like you to stay, actually, but I need sleep. Lots of sleep. You look well rested, and that sort of sickens me at the moment, but you're warm." Natasha swung her legs off of the couch and rose, holding out a hand to Clint. "C'mon."

//Did I just get told to stay because I'm a warm body?// Clint didn't argue, though, taking the woman's hand and letting her lead him back to the bedroom. He'd planned to just sleep on the couch. "I think I'd be willing to play body pillow for you, if you need me to," he agreed, tugging off his boots and shirt. "Wouldn't want you to get cold."

"We're grown ups," Natasha answered simply as she lay down. "You're not just a body pillow," she amended with a sigh. She looked over her shoulder at Clint, gaze sincere. "You're the best friend that I've ever had. It's not what you want, but it's the most I've ever given anyone.

Clint settled in the bed next to her, propping his elbow on the pillow to look at her, his hand running down her arm. "I know," he admitted. He kissed her forehead. "Thank you." He felt suddenly guilty. He hadn't demanded it, but he still felt like he'd somehow asked far more of her than was fair. "I..." He bit the words back. Don't be stupid. He knew she wouldn't or maybe even couldn't reciprocate, and it was unfair of him to put her in the spot. He grabbed her hand and kissed it, then held his arm out for her to cuddle closer. "C'mere."

Natasha accepted the offer with a soft smile and curled up next to Clint. It was, in some ways, more intimate than their usual nights. More often than not she left before morning, sometimes even before that. It kept things from getting complicated in a way she couldn't deal with. "You don't have to say it," she whispered, one hand flat on Clint's chest, "I know. Thank you."

Clint's jaw tightened, and he nodded. It hurt, but it was a relief, too. At least she knew and she wasn't shoving him out of bed and screaming at him in Russian for being an idiot, which was pretty much what his imagination had constructed as the most likely result. Smiling faintly, he pressed his forehead to hers as something else occurred to him. "You know, no one would ever believe that Natasha Romanov likes to snuggle," he teased.

"Everyone else who knows is dead," she pointed out. "That's how you can tell you're special." Natasha wasn't prone to sentiment of any kind, but she felt a certain softness when it came to Clint and his happiness. "Sleep. I'll make coffee in the morning."


	5. Lessons in Team Dynamics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the team finally talks, and Phil tries to get some answers.

Clint rolled over the next morning, momentarily confused as to where he was. It wasn't his bed, and it wasn’t Phil's increasingly familiar couch. The faint scent of soap on the pillow next to him reminded him fairly quickly, though. He sighed as the smell of coffee reached his nostrils. It should have been nice, but Clint couldn't shake the feeling that Nat was mostly just avoiding the intimacy of waking up next to him. He sighed, scratching his chest for a moment before finally peeling himself up out of the bed and stumbling into the kitchen. "Morning."

Natasha already wore jeans and a t-shirt, ready for the day by the time Clint appeared. She smiled fondly at the sight of him. "Coffee's almost ready. I usually hit the caf for breakfast." It gave her a chance to get the lay of the land for the day and get out of the apartment. "After that, Fury's called a meeting to discuss everything." Hoping to remove some of the sting from the news that they'd be suffering through a meeting, Natasha added, "Steve's out of medical. He's staying with Tony."

"Well, that's good, at least, but I detect a giant 'but' in that statement," Clint said as he helped himself to the coffee. It was still a little surreal knowing Tony and Steve were involved. Clint didn't give two shits about them both being guys, not too long before they’d both been constantly on the edge of suiting up and duking it out over every student argument. Then again, hatesex wasn't unfamiliar to Clint, but he figured it'd gone past that if the place Rogers wanted to be while he recovered was Stark's suite. "I mean, if Rogers is still recovering, that's already a bad sign."

"It is." She held up her phone. "Fury sent some pictures from Steve's file and told us to be prepared." The grainy black and white shots showed a man that looked like the scrawny little brother of their leader. "I don't think this will be a pleasant meeting."

"Jesus," Clint breathed, looking at the photos. He flushed a little shamefully a moment later. "Sorry. Just..." He shook his head in disbelief, then immediately felt grateful he'd had a heads-up because he was pretty sure he'd have made a complete ass of himself otherwise. He handed the phone back to Nat. "This is definitely not gonna be good." Rogers obviously couldn't lead them in the field like that, which left them leaderless in an already barely-cohesive team. "Just when I thought things were gonna get better."

"Yeah," Natasha agreed, looking down at the pictures for a second and then closing the window. She'd seen the files before, but thinking of seeing Steve in that state face to face was startling. It was like facing off with the Hulk and trying to remember that somewhere in there, he was still Bruce Banner. She liked things to be what they were. Such monumental shifts were difficult to swallow. "Let's go get food and more coffee in the caf. I want to listen to the chatter, see who's heard." See if she needed to punch anyone in the throat to start the day off.

"Tash, no maiming other agents," Clint said with a smirk. He arched an eyebrow at her. "I can tell what you're thinking, and it's not okay, because if you start beating people up, I'll have to throw in, too, and then Fury's gonna throw us both back in the cell block." It was one thing to imagine the word getting out to the main team. If everyone else knew, Clint was going to find out who in medical had blabbed and roll them up. 

Though she took Clint's point to heart, Natasha still shrugged. "We'll see. I'll behave if they do." Given the small number of people she genuinely liked and respected in the world, if someone tried to say anything about Steve or his altered state, she knew that they'd end up regretting it one way or another. "I promise I'll make sure they aren't able to file a report if it comes down to it," she assured as they headed down into the cafeteria.

"Uh, are you saying that in the sense that you're not planning to leave any witnesses, 'cause I think that may be a tad extreme?" He held up his thumb and forefinger to illustrate. "Just a little," he added as they grabbed their trays. 

"You may not want to date Coulson because you're becoming him," Natasha returned as she started to load her tray, utterly ignoring the look of shock from the server on the other side. She didn't particularly care what the woman thought. "Besides, I already promised that I would behave as long as other people behave." She got them both cups full of coffee and set one down on Clint's tray. "Tell me you wouldn't clock someone if they said something bad about Steve. Really, say it, and make me believe it."

"We're not dating. Me and Coulson," Clint reassured the server before he continued down the line with Nat, picking food as he went. "This is how rumors get started." When everything was too classified to discuss openly, personal lives became the number one topic around the water cooler whether the facts being spread were real or not. "Seriously, RUMINT nightmare in the making. And of course I’d choke out anyone with something bad to say about Steve. I'd probably leave them alive, though."

"That may be how rumors get started, but denying them is how they spread," Natasha answered smoothly as they took a seat at the first open table they found. She ate quietly to better hear the buzz around them. Everything was pretty standard, and she let herself relax. At least the medical staff was being as discreet as they were supposed to be for now. By the end of the day - likely the end of their closed-door meeting - the rest of the Tower would probably know. "Looks like we may not have to kill anyone just yet. Or injure them. Oh, well. At least it means we won't be late to the meeting."

"So much for the pre-meeting catharsis," Clint agreed, grabbing his tray and following Nat to the scullery. He grabbed an extra cup of coffee to go, unable to handle the concept of a big debrief without some kind of chemical stimulation. "Why do I feel like we're headed to face the firing squad?"

Natasha sighed. "Because this isn't going to be fun. Meetings are awful. Meetings about the future of the team in a situation like this..." The woman tried to put on a smile and mostly succeeded. "Just try not to make an ass out of yourself. I'd hate to have to break your shin under the table."

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

 

Clint was grateful that Steve was absorbed in the paperwork Coulson had handed him because the archer couldn't help but stare a little more than was decent at the now-diminutive blonde. //No wonder he was picked on so much before the serum,// Clint thought to himself. He made a point to put his eyes forward, no doubt helped a little by the elbow to the ribs that Nat gave him. He felt bad for Steve. He really did. But he was also pretty terrible at handling things like this with the apparent grace of his fellow Avengers.

Logan was even less graceful about it, staring openly and opening his mouth to ask what the hell had happened - he hadn't bothered to read the file he'd been sent - but Nick Fury was mercifully sitting next to him, and even more mercifully applied a steel-toed boot to Logan's adamantium shin-bone before he could say something profoundly idiotic. The mutant grunted and kept his mouth shut.

Tony hadn't missed their reactions, but he could tell it wasn't malicious, and Steve hadn't seemed to notice. Bruce wasn't making eye contact at the moment. That could wait. Either til the meeting, or until after, whichever Tony felt like waiting for. He made a point to settle into the seat next to Steve, then looked to Fury. "So, Nick, which one of us gets yelled at first? I feel like you should probably start with Logan, but-"

"Hey, fuck you, pal, I-"

"I don't really think that's the point of this whole thing," Bruce interjected.

Steve wasn't an idiot. He'd kept his gaze low for a reason. He could barely look at himself in the mirror, so he wasn't going to get mad at them for feeling shell-shocked about it. He let them look, let them take it in while he pretended it took him a lot longer than necessary to polish off a few signatures and pass the paperwork back to Coulson. They shared a smile, and Steve quietly began, "I think it's fair to say that this meeting is my fault." He saw Bruce's jaw twitch but didn't take the words back. The man was fighting so hard not to look at Tony that they couldn't even make eye contact. "Bruce and Tony and Fitz-Simmons did a pretty amazing thing. They found a way to save our teammates. It was just a little more... a little more complicated than anybody would've liked." It was easier addressing everyone than he'd thought it would be even if all the eyes on him made Steve's skin crawl. He glanced over at Natasha and smiled faintly. "It was worth it. Director, if anybody needs to get in trouble for this... well, obviously, I think I'm going to need to be on modified duty for awhile anyway."

That was putting it mildly. Natasha had to fight back a wince on Steve's behalf. The thought of not doing what she'd been trained to do actually made her ill. Being in the cell and being in constant pain had been nothing compared to the boredom brought on by those things. She could handle a lot of things: uselessness wasn't one of them. "Considering you're the only one who paid any kind of price for this long-term, I think it's fair to say official sanctions aren't necessary." She looked at Fury as if challenging him to say otherwise.

"Thank you, Agent Romanov, for making that call on my behalf," Fury bit out before turning his gaze back to Steve. "But I think she's right. You've paid a hell of a price already. I'm not letting you off on good intentions, because that's the sort of shit that gets people killed, but you've saved three teammates in the process of being an idiot-"

"Hey. That's too far," Tony said, standing up. Unlike most everyone else, Tony Stark gave less than two shits about whether the Director got mad at him and threw him off the team. SHIELD was using Tony's tower after all, and the organization had already figured out that Tony's tech-fu was better than theirs and that if Iron Man didn't want them in his tower, they weren't staying in his tower. In that spirit, Tony didn't even blink when Fury fixed him with an exasperated gaze. "That gun had a shelf-life, and Steve chose to make the move before it shit the bed. I'm sure Fitz-Simmons can tell you it's a pile of worthless scrap by now. Or close to it. The other option was to let your favorite marksman try and wield the hammer directly and probably go all Gollum on you."

Clint twitched irritably at the remark. Maybe it was a little true. Still kind of sucked to be reminded.

Steve shot his lover a look that warned him he was skating on thin ice. "Nobody's pretending it was a great plan, Director. There just didn't happen to be any better plans. Not one. Unless Thor was on his way down to set everything straight?" The comment earned him an icy glare. "Yeah, it was the only plan."

Coulson actually had to bite his tongue to keep from snorting. He'd rarely seen Fury so angry about anything but council meetings. The man looked ready to kill someone. "Right now, the issue is that Loki's licking his wounds, but he'll be back. When he is, the team still needs to be functional."

"And I'm not functional," Steve added. He caught a look of apology on Phil's face and shook his head. "It's not a dig, Agent Coulson, it's the truth. I'm not ready. I'm not in shape. I haven't had to deal with the stuff I'm dealing with since boot camp, and I'm not ready to fight like this. Won't be for a long time, if ever, at least not on the scale that the Avengers are on. I'm not bowing out because it's not like I got hit on the head and forgot everything I know, but I can't be on the ground with you guys the way a leader should be. You need someone who can fight." Though he wasn't sure how it would go over given the man's outburst, Steve still nodded to the man next to him. "What about Stark?"

Natasha raised an eyebrow, skeptical to say the least. "Tony Stark giving orders? Sorry, Cap, but there's nothing about that which sounds like a solid solution. Coulson has the most field experience."

Fury shook his head in immediate negation. "He's also here for more than just babysitting the Avengers. No." 

Despite the immediate vote down, Coulson couldn't help but feel grateful that Natasha had even put a vote in his direction. The Avengers required something less polished and less administrative than a SHIELD team of the normal variety might. "Barton has the most combat experience of anyone here that's still on the list, excepting Logan."

Clint raised an eyebrow at Coulson. "I... what?" 

"I second that," Bruce threw in, though he was glowering at Tony rather than looking at Barton.

"I sure as hell ain't babysittin' you people," Logan threw in, folding his arms over his chest. "I haven't even met Thor, and the rest o' you're fuckin' nuts in ways that makes Scientology make sense."

"Look, guys, I just own the tower-"

"Enough!"

Everyone froze and looked at Fury, who was standing, hands balled in fists and knuckles-down on the table. The Director, clearly as irritated as he got publicly, glowered at each of them in turn. "Stark's gonna do this." He looked at Tony. "For now."

"I think Romanov already said that-"

"And while I value her opinion greatly, I'm not out to have you run a SHIELD team. I need you to take care of the Avengers, and as bumbling, idiotic, alcoholic, selfish, and egotistical as you are, you seem to have a way of controlling chaos that defies all reason. And you actually stepped up in New York, so I think there might be a decent leader somewhere deep inside you, Tin Man."

"That'd be Jarvis," Tony mouthed to Steve.

Steve kept from rolling his eyes. Barely. "Glad that's settled. As Agent Coulson pointed out, though, that still leaves Loki out there somewhere. We should have a plan. Some kind of actual plan."

"We find a way to kill him," Natasha said bluntly. "We've been using kid gloves, playing politics with Asgard, which is fine when Thor is with us, but if he is with us, he's got a strange way of showing it. I don't remember him showing up when his psychotic brother was running his fingers through my gray matter."

Coulson would have loved to disagree with her. He would have loved to say that Natasha was being overzealous or taking things too personally, but she wasn't. His own feelings aside, the facts supported every last word. "It's the best we've got. Stark, Banner, work with Fitz-Simmons. We need a way to take him out or at the very least permanently neutralize him."

Tony held up a hand and pointed at Steve. "Uh, we kind of already have a project-"

"No, we don't, Tony," Bruce finally put in.

"Bruce, I know it didn't work out-"

Bruce sprang to his feet and slammed his hand on the table, and most of the room flinched. "I said no!"

"Guys..." Clint was holding up his hands and wondering when he became a mediator type. "Maybe... little less angry?"

Tony didn't seem overly interested in backing off. "Dammit, Bruce, it's not fair-"

"You wanna talk 'not fair'?" Bruce countered, and nobody would've missed the flash of green in the man's eyes. "How about being stuck wondering when you're going to turn into a walking man-made disaster next?"

"Getting real close to it now," Clint muttered, moving to stand next to Stark and glaring at him. "Push one more button, and I swear to god, I'll break your neck if it's the last thing I get to do." The archer was a few inches shorter than Tony, but the set of his jaw and the look in his eye made him about twice as intimidating.

 

Steve stood and managed to look not in the slightest bit intimidating. He still squared his shoulders and put a hand on Tony's chest. "That's enough. Your project is Loki. We did this to fix what he broke. Now we do this so that he doesn't break anyone else." He met Tony's gaze and waited until his lover looked away before he turned his gaze to Bruce. "Anything else we worry about another time and in less stressful circumstances. I’m not going to drop dead in the interim so long as I keep my inhaler in my pocket," Steve added with a rueful smile

Natasha took her hand away from the gun in her thigh holster as some of the tension drained from the room. It was a good thing that Steve wasn't stepping down. Physically changed or not, the man was still the glue that kept them from falling apart. "C'mon, Stark. Play nice. The lab rats would be pretty sad if they didn't get to play with your toys anymore." She tried to make the words sound casual, but only an idiot would think they really were.

Bruce took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm again. It was hard enough fending Tony off via text message and even tougher to do it in person. "Right," he agreed, settling back in his chair. Breaking everything wasn't going to help anyone.

Getting stared down had served to calm Tony's anger. Steve might have been hard pressed to claim five feet tall, but he was still every bit Captain America. It was never more clear to Tony than in that moment why Doc Erskine had chosen Steve. "Fine," he sighed, finally looking up. "Fine, we can do that." He glanced at Natasha. "And you can call your boy toy off."

Natasha's gaze narrowed, but there was no venom in her expression. It was back to something closer to their usual banter. She still kept her eyes on Bruce, but the man looked a lot less likely to break any of them over the conference table. 

Steve took his seat when Tony finally did. It was going to be interesting trying to get Tony to play by any sort of rules that weren't his own. He still knew that his lover was the best choice they had to guide the Avengers. As Fury had said, they weren't a SHIELD team - not exactly. "We've got things to do and wounds of our own to tend to," Steve continued in a quieter, calmer tone. "There are a lot of question marks floating around, and we aren't going to get all the answers any of us want as soon as we want them. It's more important now than ever that we remember we're all on the same side here. Is there anything else we need to discuss for now, Director?" The truth was that Steve was still fighting the urge to retreat entirely from the room, not that he let that show in his posture or tone. The team needed whatever stability they could find.

 

Fury's gaze swept the room as he settled back into his chair. He hesitated for a long moment before he finally brought up a file on the 3D projector and overrode the code. "I think I can finally tell you what's going on."

Tony grinned sarcastically. "Oh, good. Is this going to be the same fantastic timing as with the Hydra weapons, or...?"

Fury gave the billionaire one of his iciest glares before looking around the room again. "The reason Thor isn't here is because I can't get in touch with him. Not that he exactly left a phone number behind, but he also didn't exactly take much notice when his brother turned up down here. On his girlfriend's planet. Which he's ridiculously overprotective of." Fury brought up a picture of Magneto. "We all know already the Brotherhood is tied up in all of this. I managed to get my hands on a bit of information, which is admittedly sketchy, that he may actually be on Asgard, making sure that Thor is playing nice under some of Loki's mojo. And possibly holding mama Thor hostage, too."

Clint listened raptly, and he felt his heart sink at the news. While they'd managed thus far without the god, the idea that he definitely wasn't going to show up was a massive letdown. "So that leaves us with trying to find a way to kill Loki on our own. The hammer-"

"Is not something you're going to be getting anywhere near anytime soon, Agent Barton," Fury replied, then looked back to the Stark and Banner. "Time for you two to go work some fucking witchcraft. Fitz-Simmons are at your disposal."

"Oh, boy," Tony murmured, sounding as nonplussed as humanly possible. 

Steve just barely fought off the urge to curse. It wouldn't be professional, and it wouldn't be helpful, so he swallowed the impulse. He hated the idea of Tony being chained to the lab, but he knew it was the best scenario. Their chance - their only chance - was Bruce and Tony figuring something out to give them an edge. 

Not entirely convinced of the plan considering the fact that Bruce had obviously given recent and very intense thought to killing Tony, Natasha frowned. Looking especially at Bruce, she asked, "You sure you boys can play nicely without supervision?"

Bruce managed the faintest and most strained of smiles. "Done it before."

"Hmm." Natasha wasn't the slightest bit convinced. Steve wasn't in any shape to have to play referee. "I'll check in. Make sure no one needs a cup of tea every now and then." 

"Director, if we're finished, I'd like to speak with you privately," Coulson ventured. It didn't sound like they had much more to talk about until the lab rats had a chance to do their work, and even then he really wasn't confident in much of an outcome.

"That's a nice way of saying you're going to make sure that you won't' be scooping pieces of the wonder twins and I out of the grating, isn't it?" Tony asked with a quirked eyebrow.

"I can handle myself." Bruce said mildly as he moved out of the room, stopping to stand well within Tony's space. "But one more mention of the shit you've been texting me about, and I'll let the other guy explain how I mean it when I say I'm not helping."

Tony kept a straight face, but his larynx bobbed at the glimmer of green in Bruce's eyes. The shorter scientist moved away a moment later, and Tony cleared his throat. "I'll catch up with you. I'm taking a few hours to myself first," he said, glancing down at Steve and quirking a faint smile.

"Hey, you realize there's kind of a global emergency right now, right?" Clint barked. "We don't have time for you kids to go make out somewhere, O Glorious Leader."

Steve had the grace to blush. "Give us a half hour, Clint." He knew he couldn't afford to let Tony stay with him no matter how much he wanted it, but that didn't mean he was above insisting on keeping Tony to himself for a short period of time. "Bruce could use the breather anyway." There would be no good argument to that and Steve damn well knew it.

Natasha actually smirked. It was a very nearly underhanded tactic, and she approved. "C'mon, Clint. Let's give everybody some space. We can go shoot things on the range. It will make you feel better. Logan, you care to join us? You're welcome to invite Scott too. I'd be curious to see how he takes out a target."

 

Fury nodded, waiting for everyone else to file out before he tilted his head at Coulson. "You don't usually ask to talk to me one-on-one. Something must be pretty wrong." Phil was so capable of handling things that Fury rarely had to go to the man for updates and pretty much never just to make sure things were going smoothly. Fury trusted Coulson enough to know that no news was good news. He also knew that when the agent wanted to talk one-on-one, something was weighing on his mind.

"It is. In case you haven't noticed, things are going very poorly at the moment." He'd been thinking of confronting Fury for months, and it finally seemed like the time had come to stop waiting. "Director, we're both grown ups. I don't believe in miracles or fairy tales, which is why I know I should be dead right now. It's why I know you're hiding something important. If there's any chance that whatever put me back in one piece could reactivate the serum, I think now would be a really good time to stop playing coy."

"You asked before. In fact, I know you've tried to look at the files and-"

"And it's above my clearance level. I noticed that too."

"Then you know I'm not going to tell you shit." Fury sounded more exasperated than angry as he clasped his hands flat on the surface of the conference table. "We tried a few things. It worked. You're breathing. The details? Those aren't your business. You know exactly as much as you need to. Exactly."

Coulson could feel himself losing the tenuous control he had and tried to calm down before he said something even stupider than cutting Fury off had been. "This isn't just about me anymore. This is-"

"If anything I know fixes what happened to him, it's on the table. That's why the team knows about Thor's involvement - or lack thereof. It's why you know. Now get the hell out of here and stop trying to know things you don't really want to know. That part's an order." Fury leaned in a little and added, "And as a friend, Phil? Stop trying to see shit you don't really want to see."

The words were hardly comforting, but Coulson rose stiffly and made his way out of the room. There was more to the story. There was more to the story that might very well save Steve's career and Coulson's sanity, and Fury was still sitting on it. As much as he would have liked to chalk that up to the man being a hardass or a complete psychopath, he'd known Nick Fury long enough to know better. And that was the part that really scared him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, this is actually all plot. I know, we were surprised too.


	6. Interlude

"Tomorrow." They'd already sewn some chaos - a few issues in crowded areas, a few scenes. It was just a warning to SHIELD that they were bloodied but unbowed. Loki smiled coldly. He was done playing nicely with the Avengers. He didn't want to see them dead, necessarily, he wanted to see them well and truly broken. "Apparently taking away their Captain wasn't enough. They have a new leader now. I think we should give him a proper welcome." He turned his piercing gaze to Victor, and the smile widened. "The Iron Man is mine, but he isn't alone in needing to be taught a lesson. You will collect the archer and his handler. It seems I didn't kill him thoroughly enough last time. Perhaps you could take care of that for me?"


	7. Close Range

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which part of the team goes out to blow off steam, and things actually go really, really well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here be smut and character stuff. Some Clint/Phil, lots of Logan/Scott/Natasha. Enjoy!

The idea of blowing off a little steam was appealing, and Logan warmed at once to Natasha’s suggestion. "Yeah, I'll see if Scott's up for it," Logan said, shooting Scott a text. "I'll come with ya. Don't really do a lot o' long-range stuff, but it's been awhile since I played with a rifle."

Clint offered Nat a wan smile. He liked the idea of unwinding on the range too. He would've rather not had company, but he wasn't going to argue. He figured the relative intimacy of the night before had probably filled the woman's quota for the month. "We still have those Loki-shaped targets? I think that'd make me feel even better."

"You've got it," Natasha agreed. They stopped off at Logan's room and found Scott bored and edgy and ready to blow off some steam too. Nat smiled at the man. "You're gonna like this." She was genuinely intrigued to see what Scott could do. It was one thing knowing someone was a mutant. It was another thing seeing it firsthand. She led the charge to the shooting range and gestured to a well-stocked cabinet just inside. "Pick your poison, boys."

Scott begged off, sharing a quick smile with Natasha. "I'm guessing you want to see the real thing?"

"Yeah, I would."

He nodded his agreement with the idea. He needed the practice, and whatever capacity in which he ended up serving with the Avengers, they deserved to have an idea of his abilities. "Then I'll save the gun for the next round."

 

Clint skipped the case of weaponry in favor of his bow. He could operate a gun, but it wasn't comfortable and soothing like he needed right then. He was already firing basic rounds into moving targets at a rate that could easily outpace the average semi-automatic by the time the other three members of the group took their own positions. There was something profoundly meditative about the active of drawing, aiming, breathing, releasing.

Logan took a moment to appreciate the amount of athleticism and skill Clint displayed before stuffing a magazine in the Golani rifle he'd picked out. He'd seen what Scott could do more than enough times, so he left his lover to show off to Nat with a faint smirk. As he started putting rounds downrange, the only regret he had was that he was pretty sure he wasn't allowed a cigar to go with the rest of the therapy.

Happy to have her own weaponry again, Natasha settled for using it, pulling her guns from their holsters with obvious relish. She had a neat window made out of the target's central body mass a few seconds later, the paper fluttering from the impact. 

"This place is reinforced, right?" Scott asked, though he didn't really wait for an answer before he stopped talking and started focusing. It wasn't as easy as it had been with a visor. It took thought, and he had to use internal muscles - mental, for all he knew - to dilute the beam into something focused. It wasn't as clean as he would have liked, but Scott still managed to tear through the neck of the mock-up of Loki, and he couldn't help smiling at the effort.

The sound of the blast had completely thrown Clint's concentration, and an arrow fluttered side-to-side and across lanes. He'd expected something far more laser-like and far less explosive. Looking at the glowing edges of the decapitated mock-up, Clint realized Scott's ability was all of the above. "Jesus," he muttered, lowering his bow as he surveyed the damage.

Logan lowered his rifle, smirking at Clint's reaction before looking to Nat for hers.

While Clint looked shell-shocked, Natasha looked damn near turned on. She hit the button to bring the targets forward and whistled low at the sight of it. "I like your style, Summers," was all she said, but her smile spoke of plans already being made somewhere in the back of her head. 

Scott almost cautioned her against it, told the woman that he was hoping to stay out of things for awhile, then subsided. It didn't matter. They were enjoying themselves, and besides, being out of the line of duty for awhile didn't mean forever. "Thanks." He took in the grouping on her target and nodded his approval. "That's impressive."

"Couple days off has me rusty," Nat protested, the words a statement of fact, not a dismissal of his complement. "I don't like taking breaks."

"You are a little off," Clint agreed casually.

Logan shook his head at the two. Anyone else would've been thumping their chest at the grouping. She'd emptied a full magazine into the target, and it took a good eye to tell that more than three bullets had passed through the central ring. "Sweetheart, I don't think you gotta worry about anything survivin' that, anyway."

Clint smirked. "I'd be offended that you're not all gathered around my targets, but I think Logan's already had enough of my marksmanship," he said, sidling up to the feral mutant and nudging him in the ribs.

Logan raised an eyebrow that implied a whole boatload of "don't fuck with me" but only smirked a little. For all the shit that had gone down, he liked Clint. If Scott could be relaxed about the situation, he could be too. Probably.

Natasha shook her head. "You're going to make him kill you, and you're going to deserve it, and I'm not going to do a thing to stop him," she explained patiently. It was nothing short of a miracle that Logan and Scott were both being so at ease. She'd seen Scott cast one or two uneasy glances at Clint, but it didn't seem like there were any hard feelings. Loki had been pulling all their strings. They had that in common, and a common enemy was no small bond. She smiled at Logan and regarded the target again. "I suppose it'll have to do for now." 

The X-Men had trained, of course, but Scott was finding it interesting to see just how different the word was for SHIELD agents. They were real, honest to god spies. Natasha was like a Bond chick without the stupidity or inability to keep her clothes on. He was fairly certain she would murder him if she had any idea he'd thought that. There are perks to not having telepaths around. "So how did you guys end up here?"

Clint tensed at the question. "That's..." His eyes slid to Nat. He'd been expected to kill her. He'd disobeyed orders, risked being put down himself. And his own recruitment hadn't been much smoother. You didn't often take SHIELD agents hostage and get pulled into the organization. You usually just got put down like a rabid dog. "That's actually surprisingly personal."

"Wait, you have a personal... anything? I kinda figured you only took that getup off to shower or..." Logan's eyes flicked to Scott before he could stop himself. It was brief, microscopic, but Logan couldn't help but kick himself. //Let's just alienate everyone while we're at it. There's probably something stupid you could say to Nat too.//

Clint's jaw clenched and he looked to Nat. "Guess we all have our secrets," he said before turning his gaze back to Logan. 

"Once you get used to it, it's all pretty boring." She didn't miss the tension ratcheting up in the room, but she didn't acknowledge it either. It would go away or it wouldn't. Talking about it wouldn't necessarily help. The past couldn't be changed, just survived. "There's lies and people getting shot and people switching sides." She waved a hand and shrugged. "Nothing worth losing sleep over. Not anymore."

Slowly Scott nodded and let his gaze stray to Logan instead. "I guess it's kind of like asking someone what they're in for in prison, huh?"

"More or less, yes." Natasha's lips quirked up at the comparison. "Except fewer people usually die in those stories."

"Less people, huh?" Logan quirked a faint smile. Nat's casual attitude when it came to violence was intriguing to say the least. Logan could definitely appreciate what Clint saw in her, obvious assets aside.

"Yeah, you're not the only one with a past. Fury wasn't kidding when he said the team was kind of a mess," Clint said with a faint smirk.

Logan tilted his head at Clint and then shifted his gaze to Nat. "Startin' to get a little uncomfortable, how you people seem to know more about me than I do."

"We could probably get you clearance to the file that Stark - "

Logan held up a hand. "For now, I think I'm happier not knowin'."

It was a sentiment that Natasha had no trouble understanding. If she could have written out or written over some of her own history, she would have been sorely tempted. "There are worse things than blank spots. Meanwhile, let's go another round." It felt good, companionable, the four of them shooting even with Scott's less than traditional methods. She liked it. The normalcy - such as it was - reassured Natasha on a level she realized she'd been missing. In an utterly uncharacteristic lapse in focus, she didn't notice that anyone had joined them until another target started floating down the range. It was the grouping that followed more than anything else that alerted her to the identity of their companion a few stalls down. "Looks like Coulson's having a bad day." It wasn't his lack of precision that told her so, it was the fact that he wasn't bothering with center mass. Instead the head of the target looked like it was missing some pretty important higher brain function.

Logan lowered his rifle and glanced at Coulson's targets, watching as the agent managed to come close to cutting one's head off with a series of well-placed shots. "Am I the only one who finds him strangely terrifyin'?"

"No," Clint answered as he brushed past Logan. "Stark does, too."

"Or you could'a just kicked me in the balls. Y'know, instead o' comparin' me to Stark."

Clint tossed a smirk back at Logan as he threw his bow over his shoulder and moved towards Coulson. He leaned on the agent's stall partition and folded his arms, waiting for Coulson to finish his round of fire and the target to come back to them. When it did, he tapped on Coulson's earpro and raised an eyebrow. "Conversation with Fury went that well, huh?"

Coulson pulled off the ear protection and sighed as he sagged against the counter. "Better than that, I just ran out of paper to shoot." He offered Clint a smile and sighed again. "It's nothing. Well, no, it's not nothing, but it's nothing because he won't tell me anything. It's something. It's maybe even something really, really important." Knowing that needed more clarification, he explained quietly, "Whatever is letting me be up and walking around right now... I can't help thinking that might help Steve too."

Natasha smirked at Logan's commentary. "Stark's not so bad. Worse once you get to know him, sure, but not so bad." In truth she kind of liked Tony. She still would have broken his hand if he tried to touch her in anything but a friendly manner, but she liked him. He had style, at least, and an interesting way of dealing with the world. 

"He seems, uh, colorful," Scott allowed. "Kinda hard seeing him being the kind of guy who'd end up hooked up with Captain America."

"You have no idea."

Logan had the decency to feel a little awkward at that. //Might, actually,// he thought to himself, but kept his mouth shut. He absently wondered how the gash in Tony's back was healing up but didn't figure it was appropriate to ask. "Yeah, you wouldn't think so, just to meet 'em," he put in, hoping that was enough to avoid raising suspicion. "And she's right. He's worse, the better you get to know 'im."

"He's useful, though," Natasha allowed, "and smarter than he seems. Not in a personal sense. On a personal level, he's actually worse with other human beings than I am. I didn't know there were people like that." She knew how to work people over, how to manipulate them, but Tony Stark was one of the few people she knew who were as consistently awful with relating to others as she was herself. "Thank god for Steve or he might not be able to introduce himself without getting slapped half the time."

Logan smirked, thinking back to when Steve and Tony had found him in his hiding place in Japan. "Yeah, he's almost gotten worse than that. A lot worse," he said, feeling faintly satisfied at the memory of the look of terror on the abrasive billionaire's face.

 

Clint frowned, giving Phil a worried look. "'Keeping you up and walking around'..." he echoed slowly. His first thought was nothing to do with putting Steve back to being Captain America. Instead, he zoomed in on one question. "You think it's something that might... stop keeping you up and walking around?" he asked, feeling a small stab of fear. He was pretty sure he couldn't handle Coulson dying again. At least, not without it being well into the future. Preferably after Clint himself had gone ahead and kicked the bucket.

The question startled him, and Coulson realized he hadn't really considered that aspect of things. What might happen in his own future hadn't been of nearly as much importance as what the information might mean for his team. He blinked and tried to think but found himself struck by the look of concern on Clint's face. It made him feel like blushing and stammering, and Phil Coulson was not a man who did either of those things on a regular basis. "I hope not," he answered honestly after a moment to collect himself. "To be honest, I don't know. I don't know why I'm here. Like I said the other day, though, I know... I know it isn't normal."

Clint nodded. He knew that was the best they'd get unless Fury decided it was sharing time. He bit his bottom lip. "Well, considering how much Fury likes Rogers, I can't imagine him holding out if it's an option. I mean, it's not like Fury couldn't bury it like he did... whatever he did to you, and we all know Rogers could keep his mouth shut. Unless Fury's having to find a way around the council. I'd believe that, at least. They are a pretty epic pain in the ass," Clint observed. It still nagged at the back of his mind that it might be that whatever had been given to Coulson could be taken away. Deciding it was easiest to change the subject, Clint held up his his hand, palm out. When Coulson looked at him funny, Clint urged, "High five. Little bird told me you bagged the Widow."

Coulson looked genuinely stricken for a moment. "She... she told- NATASHA!"

The redhead gave Logan a wink and ducked out into the walkway. "Yeah, boss?"

Leaving Clint hanging, he rounded the corner. "You actually... you told Clint that... seriously?"

She rolled her eyes. "It's not exactly a state secret. You really need to relax." She nodded over Phil's shoulder. "And you really shouldn't leave a friend hanging like that. Slap the man's hand." When Phil continued to look at her like she'd lost her mind, Natasha crossed and slapped Clint's palm herself. "There. I got laid too, after all. I suppose I deserve as much credit as you do. Maybe more. It was my idea."

Clint was grinning ear to ear until Nat mentioned it not being a state secret. He sighed dramatically. "I'm always the last one to hear these things," he pouted, crossing his arms over his chest while Phil looked more flustered than Clint was sure he'd ever seen him. "Nat, should I tell him what else I heard, or... save that for later?"

Logan didn't bother to hide the laughter the whole scene inspired. "And here I thought all the sex in Mission Impossible was just to sell tickets." He glanced sidelong at Scott. "Didn't realize it was a documentary."

 

"True life stories," Scott agreed with a slow nod. He had to admit, it was amusing seeing someone who always seemed as together as Phil flustered and blushing. The guy really did look like he was going to kill someone or freak or. Possibly both.

"Else? There's an else?" Coulson tried very, very hard to remember anything else that he might have said or done in Natasha's presence that required additional information being passed on to Clint. He was worrying so much about it that he didn't even realize how well it was distracting him from freaking out about everything else. Suddenly whatever had brought him back wasn't the center of his universe. Clint and Natasha and a growing sense of horror were. "Maybe we should pretend there's not one?"

On a roll and suddenly feeling shameless in the face of Phil's complete and utter horror, Clint couldn't resist. "Oh, I don't know. I think it might be hard to ignore. It's a pretty big else," he said, crossing his arms over his chest and giving Phil a sadistically amused grin.

Logan raised an eyebrow. "I have a feelin' this is gonna trump the 'me versus Stark' story. Or at least make it so I haveta wait until we're all out drinkin' to tell it."

Coulson covered his face with his hands and cursed whatever stupidity had persuaded him to keep Natasha and Clint as his assets for so many years. Most people had the sense to cycle out, to try new teams. Most people didn't put themselves in these situations. "I hate you, Barton."

"You don't," Natasha countered breezily. "You don't hate either one of us. That's why Clint didn't put an arrow through my head to start with."

He sighed and let his hands fall. "Fine. I don't hate you, but I'm sure you can see from my perspective why I'm also not terribly fond of you at the moment."

"Just for that..." She rested her elbow on Clint's shoulder like he was there solely for her comfort and nodded her approval of his continuing to speak. "Go on."

Scott was loving the scene not because he felt Coulson deserved the torture, really, but because the easy banter reminded him so much of the mansion. He missed it in a way. He didn't want to go running back. It wasn't his home anymore, but that didn't stop Scott from missing the good old days and the easy interactions with his friends. He was more grateful than ever that Logan was still there and still part of his day to day world.

 

Logan knew by the disturbingly face-splitting grin on Clint's face that whatever the archer was about to say was probably going to upset Phil in ways heretofore unheard of. Naturally Logan couldn't help but find his own sadistic grin at the thought. 

"Well..." Clint glanced at Nat, then back to Phil. Outing the man in front if them all might have been crossing the line, but since they were already in pretty personal territory and he had Natasha’s blessing, Clint didn’t care. She would keep Phil from murdering him. "I hear," Clint said, quirking an eyebrow and giving Phil what was supposed to be a mock smoldering look but felt a little more sincere than he would have liked, "that you've got some pretty impressive equipment." Clint felt himself blush faintly as he said the words, but he was still too amused to feel self conscious about it. 

"I take what I said earlier back. I do hate you, Barton," Phil mumbled, trying hard not to make eye contact with anyone present. He caught the smirk on Natasha's face and raised a warning finger. "You will be doing long run ops in Siberia for the rest of the year."

Natasha didn't even blink. "I love the cold."

He sighed and took a deep breath. "This has been lovely. Almost better than my meeting with Fury."

Feeling bad for the guy, Scott offered, "Not that it's any of my business, but... there are worse things to have get around the water cooler." He shrugged. "You could choose to look at this as excellent personal publicity."

"If I wasn't busy having an aneurysm right now, I'm sure that would be comforting." The truth was that having a room full of people imagining him naked was bad. Having Clint Barton leering at him and doing the same was some new level of uncomfortable that Coulson was pretty sure they'd have to invent an entire new word to describe. 

"Just saying, if I had any single friends..." Scott couldn't help but grin.

Coulson groaned and ran a hand over his face again. "I'm guessing there aren't a lot of bribes that would make you all quietly forget we've ever had this conversation?"

"Forget? No." Logan seemed to consider for a moment, then offered, "I'd be willin' to keep it to myself in exchange for beer, though."

Clint had to shake himself. He was still remembering the outline he'd caught glimpses of when he'd met Phil in his PJs. Knowing he hadn't imagined things put a whole new spin on the knowledge. A distracting spin. Clearing his throat to make sure he didn't give that away - he was not going to date his handler - he nodded. "That actually sounds like a good idea. Maybe we could get some drinks tonight? Just to keep from going stir crazy?"

Given how good a stiff drink sounded, Coulson nodded. "I think for once we can forgo getting the Director's approval so long as we keep things from turning into a frat party. We all need to blow off some steam." He watched Clint uncertainly. He must have been imagining the way the man's eyes followed him, the way Clint stared. Because Clint didn't stare at him, he stared at Natasha. It was the way of the world. 

"Some good vodka sounds like the perfect way to end a lovely day," Natasha smiled as she finally stepped away from Clint. Her work wasn't done, but things were moving in the right direction, at least.

 

Clint smiled, giving Nat a light nudge and a grin. Maybe she wasn't going to declare undying love, but when they had time and alcohol, Clint usually found himself tangled up with her before the dawn came. Refocusing on the rest of the group, Clint smiled. "Then meet in the garage at five? Nat and I pick the place. You two," he looked to Scott and Logan, "are still new around here, and I'm not going to an old guy bar," he said with a grin for Phil to let him know it was a joke. 

Logan nodded. "Sounds good," he agreed, sliding his arm around Scott's waist.

They all assembled in the garage roughly within the suggested timeframe. Coulson had shed his suit and gone for dark jeans and a button down shirt instead, glasses in the place of his usual contacts. If he was going to sit in a smoky bar all night, lugging around eye drops wasn't his idea of a good time. At least this time the novelty t-shirts were safely stowed in his drawer.

Scott had on jeans and had grabbed one of Logan's shirts. It was too big on him, but it felt comfortable. He didn't want a lot more out of the night than to curl up with Logan. Being outwardly marked, at least from his own perspective, made him less anxious about the whole situation. Still he remained tucked in against Logan's side. 

Clad in a simple white shirt and skintight black jeans, Natasha smiled at the group as a whole. "We're awfully pretty."

"Pretty," Logan echoed, then glanced at Scott with a smirk. "She called me pretty." He'd found his best pair of jeans and one of his better button downs. Logan couldn't help but find Scott's choice of shirts sexy. In fact, he was glad Scott was staying close to him, because Logan was sure he'd have been pulling him in anyway. 

For his part, Clint had gone with his typical layered look of a t-shirt, open button down and leather jacket with jeans. He couldn't decide whether he wanted to stare at Nat or Phil more. Nat was her typical svelte self, but Phil was intriguing so dressed down. Clint hadn't noticed before. "Guess we are," he agreed after a moment, sidling up to Nat. 

She handed Clint the keys to the black SUV and then gave Logan a smile. "Since you can't get drunk, you get to be the default designated driver. Plus he won't be able to keep the keys from you if you decide to take them." Natasha deferred the front seat to Coulson and slid into the back alongside Scott and Logan. The pair of them were actually kind of adorable. She knew that a lot of Scott's lingering, his need to be close, came from what had happened to him over the past several months. She didn't comment on it. If taking comfort in Logan helped, she was all for it. Everyone needed to find their own way to drown their sorrows. 

Scott gratefully took his seat next to Logan and laced their fingers together. He knew that he was being a little clingy, but he couldn't quite shake off the need to have Logan nearby after coming so close to losing the man. "So what kind of place are we going to?"

 

Clint gave Nat a look when she implied that Logan might have to take the keys from him, then grinned a little, his eyes watching her every move. He was a little disappointed when she left shotgun to Phil, but he didn't argue. He glanced over at his handler and then glanced in the rearview mirror at Scott's question. "Nice, modern place. Not too loud, not too quiet. All kinds of booze on tap, good wings, and comfy booths," he said, easing the SUV out of the garage. His eyes slid back to Phil, who still looked a little wound up, as the vehicle eased out onto the street. "You better relax, or I'm gonna find some other way to make you forget what's eating you." He meant the threat in terms of finding something else to harass the other man, but he blushed faintly as he realized the comment could've been taken a lot differently.

For his part, Logan untwisted his fingers from Scott's only to pull the man against him and rest Scott's head on his chest. "You let me know if we need to go home early," he said, tone firm but gentle.

"I will," Scott answered, happily curling in against Logan with no apparent concern for what anyone else would think. 

Phil watched the blush creep up over Clint's cheeks and suddenly felt far less certain than he had two seconds before about Clint not having meant that nearly the way it sounded. Because Clint Barton was not attracted to him. Couldn't be, really. The world wasn't that strange a place. "I am capable of relaxing," Phil assured him in a neutral tone instead of thinking too hard about it. "I did yesterday morning." The time spent out and about with Clint was actually his favorite recent memory. He'd felt more at ease and more himself than he had in a long time.

Natasha smiled at the exchange, the teasing and then the sincere admission. There was something there. It wasn't much of anything yet, but it was something.

"That's true," Clint agreed, smiling a little as he leaned forward to check for traffic at an intersection. He put on a grim smile. "Gotta remember to feed the ducks when this is all done. It's not over until we've fed them." He remembered the peace he'd felt in that moment, and he felt a strange pang at the thought. He did his best to shake it off. Another glance in the rearview, and Clint caught sight of the two cuddling in the back seat. Another strange stab in the chest, and he refocused on his driving. //Maybe I'm just having a heart attack. That'd be alright.//

Logan glanced at Nat, then noted where she was looking and that she was smiling. He raised his eyebrows at her with a faint smile, indicating the two men in the front seat with a slight, questioning jerk of his head. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that she was trying to hook them up. Unless, apparently, you were Clint Barton. Then it was fucking cuneiform. 

The redhead smiled broadly. It was nice to know someone appreciated her efforts even if it wasn't the two people at the center of her hopes. If Clint had looked back, he might have thought she was just leering at Scott and Logan. 

"I like that idea," Phil agreed with a smile. It was nice to know that the day had meant something to Clint too, that he hadn't been making up the personal connectivity in his head. When they pulled into the parking lot, he scoped the place out and felt relieved to see at least some mix of ages. Most of the crowd looked to be in their late 20s and 30s, but at least he felt satisfied that he wouldn't look like a creepy old man next to the others. "Looks nice."

"Yeah, it does," Scott agreed from the backseat. True to Clint's promise, it looked relatively low key but still sleek and new enough to have a decent crowd and a bit of activity. In other words, if they got tipsy enough to want to dance, they wouldn't look crazy. 

Clint got the car parked and secured, then edged over toward Nat. He kept his hands in his pockets but made a point to stay close nonetheless.

They managed to get the last large party horseshoe booth in the joint, Logan and Scott toward one end, Clint flanked by Nat and Phil on the other. Clint ordered himself a stout, then raised an eyebrow when Logan ordered a beer for himself as well. "I thought you couldn't get drunk?"

"Can for a split second. Buzzed, anyway. I heal, so I don't get a tolerance. So a good guzzle gets me a two second buzz. And, y'know, you can like the taste o' beer without gettin' shitfaced. Which I'm guessin' is a category you fall into, since you didn't order Coors," the mutant countered, looking more amused than anything. 

Natasha stuck with her usual - vodka on the rocks. She didn't see the point in disguising alcohol as something fruity and sweet when it wasn't. It was some variation of beer all down the line otherwise. "I'm not sure if you're pacing yourselves or if I'm the only one who's got any balls."

"Both," Coulson agreed with a hint of a smile. He knew his own tolerance wasn't what it once was, and he preferred to enjoy a few beers for a slow burn instead of tossing back shots until he forgot his name. That went double considering Clint's thigh was settled comfortably against his own, and forgetting where and who he was would probably have resulted in some very uncomfortable moments. "We can save shots until we've decided we're completely finished actually being capable of speaking to one another."

"Once we have a decent buzz on, we should see about some dancing." Scott nudged Logan. "What do you say?"

Natasha patted Clint's back. "It has been a long few days," she allowed. The words of sympathy didn't stop her from snickering as she sipped at her vodka. She'd ordered the good stuff. Thanks to her years of service and the fact that living at Stark's tower was cheaper than having a place of her own, she could afford it. "I second Scott's vote, personally. A little drinking, a little dancing - we need it." She leaned across Clint and waved Phil in so that he could hear her better. "Clint can't dance. Will you dance with me?"

"Always," Coulson agreed without any hesitation at all, "though I suspect you're underestimating Clint."

Though he was rather thoroughly wrapped up in his beer, Clint finally took note of the underhanded ribbing he was getting. "Oh, I know how to dance," he said, not bothering to lean back and give the other two more space. He lowered his voice slightly, his expression turning sly. "It's just the kind of dancing that's pretty similar to foreplay." 

Logan could hear the discussion over the rest of the bar, and he raised an eyebrow, wondering now if it was just par for the course for the Avengers to have random threesomes. He glanced at Scott. "Guess we snuck out with the wild bunch," he observed with a smirk.

Scott snickered and then shrugged. "I think we could use it after the last few... years." He drank his beer faster than normal and then ordered another round for the table. He clinked his glass against Natasha's when she held out hers in thanks.

Halfway through his second beer, Coulson rose and held out a hand. "Ready for a dance or two?" He couldn't resist smiling at Clint. "You can come too if you think you can keep up."

"Three's a crowd, Phil," the archer replied, standing to let Nat out of the booth. He nudged Phil and gave him a grin. "Just leave me some for later, huh?" he said with a smirk. For his part, Clint planned to get a lot less sober before he thought about getting out on the floor, and then he sure as hell wasn't going to dance alone. Or in an awkward three-way circle. Once Nat had gotten out of the booth, Clint got back into it and finished off his first beer, gladly grabbing the second round and holding his bottle up to Scott before he started on it. Yes, he definitely needed this.

Logan grinned at Scott. "In a hurry to get me out there?" he asked, squeezing his lover's shoulders. "Make sure you're drunk enough to not notice that I dance like a white guy."

"The good news is that I'm pretty terrible unless we're talking lame wedding dancing." Scott shrugged and stood. "Let's do this." He'd polished off his second beer, and the buzz had Scott feeling far better spirited.

On the floor, Natasha and Coulson were obviously far more worried about entertaining themselves than they were about impressing anyone. Still, neither of them were terrible. Spotting Clint watching them, Nat held out a hand to him.

Logan let Scott drag him onto the dance floor. Somewhere in the back of his brain, he realized he might know how to do some ballroom dancing of his own, but the beat was far too fast for anything like that. Letting Scott take the lead, he grinned as they both awkwardly managed some sense of rhythmic movement. It was stupid, he felt stupid, but Scott seemed to be having fun. That was all it took to make Logan feel sure it was completely worth it.

Scott didn't really care how they looked. He enjoyed swaying to the music with his arms slung around Logan's neck and their bodies indecently close. The rest was details.

Clint took a moment to realize he was being invited to join. He'd been far too busy watching various decidedly inappropriate parts of the two as they moved. Polishing off the second beer, Clint stood, feeling like he'd had enough to act a little stupid if necessary. He drew close to Nat, taking her hand and closing the distance easily. The beat was a low, steady throb, and he moved with her, his hands resting on her waist as he shifted with all the grace he'd developed over the years. When Phil got a little too close, Clint impulsively switched targets. It was meant as a tease, something to get Phil flustered all over again. "Let's see how well a suit can move," he said, his voice a little deeper than he'd intended as his hands moved to Phil's hips, thumbs hooking in the man's belt loops. He still kept a few inches between them even as his eyes locked with his handler's, a coy smirk on his lips.

Coulson wasn't sure how it happened, he just knew that one minute he was holding Natasha by the waist and the next he was watching her slip away to grab a cute blond girl who's been dancing close. It took all of two seconds before he found Clint's fingers looked into his belt and his own hands on Clint's waist. Just the feeling of holding him like that was enough to short circuit Phil's brain just a little, especially when coupled with the wicked gleam in the asset's eyes.

Clint smiled, the expression predatory, giving Coulson's belt loops a tug to remind him to move. "Speechless?" he rumbled, pulling Phil closer. Their bodies still weren't quite plastered together yet, but Clint could feel his handler's body heat, and he found himself honestly wondering whether Phil would be game for more intimate contact. MUCH more intimate.

Realistically Coulson knew that Clint was probably screwing with his head. Less realistically he found himself unable to resist using his grip on Clint's hips to close the last of the distance between them. "This the kind of moving you had in mind?" Of course Clint felt as good as he looked. He was all heat and hard muscle, and Coulson couldn't keep himself from wondering what it would be like to explore the same thing without clothes in the way.

Scott raised an eyebrow as the men seemed to give up any pretence of play. He smirked and nodded in their direction. "Romanov is disturbingly good at this."

Logan couldn't help but chuckle a little when he saw what Scott was referring to. "She is. Damn," he remarked. Nat had a way of manipulating people. It was interesting to see how that went when she applied those skills somewhere other than interrogation.

Clint opened his mouth to reply with something witty and found that his voice was caught in his throat. Pulled tight against Coulson, he had little doubt left in his mind that his imagination hadn’t exaggerated anything when he'd caught the man in his PJs. He'd started the whole thing to mess with his handler. He was starting to feel like he was the one getting messed with. "Heh... yeah," he managed finally, biting his tongue a little to keep himself focused on not getting a boner. "Better at this whole dancing thing than I would've thought," he said, wondering if Coulson could tell how much deeper his voice had gotten with all the background noise.

There was no mistaking the husky rasp of Clint's voice. It was the sexiest thing he'd heard in a long time, all the more so because it reminded him of Clint fresh from sleep. "You too. I think Nat was selling you short." He regretted at once bringing her up. He didn't want Clint thinking about Natasha when they were hip to hip and moving in a distinctly inappropriate manner together. Even if it was just a dance, he intended to enjoy it fully.

"Remind me to never, ever get on her bad side. She may not be a mutant, but I'm pretty sure she still has scary mind powers," Scott whispered to Logan as he watched Clint and Coulson together.

Logan nodded his agreement. "Her 'n' Coulson both. Not so sure about Barton. Not so sure he actually has a mind."

Clint was trying his damnedest to not let some twitch, some flicker, give away the fact that if he hadn't been alternating between chewing on his cheek and his tongue, he would've definitely been starting to poke Phil in the thigh by then. He didn't entirely succeed, though, as his hands tightened on Coulson's hips, nearly pulling them both to a stop before he reminded himself to move. As it was, he was pretty sure his pupils must've been blown from the arousal. The mention of Nat barely registered. Barely anything registered except the man pressed firmly against him. "She just tries to keep my ego from getting overgrown," he finally managed, feeling inordinately proud of himself for managing to keep track of the conversation and even putting together a decent sentence to boot.

 

"I suppose someone has to." The longer they moved together the less appropriate it all felt. Phil was having trouble remembering that getting hard and grinding against a coworker was a terrible idea, especially when said coworker had never shown any romantic interest in him. "What are we doing right now, Clint?" He needed some idea before it went so far off the rails that they couldn't get it back on. "It's starting to feel like more than dancing."

Clint was buzzed, but not nearly buzzed enough to pretend he wasn’t aware of everything he was doing. It was a bit late to play coy or pretend that it was still part of the joke. He'd done his best to fluster Coulson, and that hadn't worked, but he'd stayed pressed against the guy well after it was obviously not working. Coulson hadn't pushed him away, either. It occurred to Clint that while Nat had been his original target, blowing off steam with his handler might not be such a bad idea, either. "Well," he murmured, leaning in close to Phil, pulling them tight together and slowing his movement to a graceful sway as the music's tempo dropped, "I was kind of curious." He shifted his hips against Phil's, the slight change in angles sending a thrill through him. "And now I'm thinking I wasn't imagining things when I saw you in your PJs the other night..." He lowered his voice and leaned in to rasp into Coulson's ear, "and I might be feeling a little left out after hearing about you and Nat."

Coulson let out a soft sigh that sounded more like a groan. He hated himself a little for not stopping things then and there. What happened with Natasha had never been intended as more than a one off. With Clint... but, then again, if it was his only chance, maybe it wouldn't be such a good idea to say no. "Maybe we should find a more private spot, then."

Natasha abandoned the blond girl to sidle up next to Scott and Logan. "I really should have taken bets on this one. I thought Clint would take longer to crack."

Logan raised an eyebrow. "Really?" he asked in a tone that said he'd sort of figured Clint for the village bicycle.

Natasha chuckled at his obvious surprise. "Sex is easy. Something that might be more than sex..." She shrugged and danced in close to Scott. "Appearances can be deceiving." It could still all go horribly wrong, and she knew it. Clint and feelings could get awkward pretty fast, and Coulson didn't exactly have a string of long, meaningful relationships behind him either. The hope was that together they could figure out the rough patches. "If you boys can do it, I think anyone can."

"Hey, woah... What's *that* supposed to mean?" Logan asked, though he seemed more amused than anything. He knew that his relationship with Scott wasn't the most likely looking thing to ever happen. In fact, he was pretty sure that if anyone in the mansion found out, they'd probably faint from the surprise. Still... Since Nat was mostly occupying the front half of Scott on the dance floor, Logan slid in behind his lover, leaning over Scott's shoulder to look the woman in the eye. "Does it really seem that insane?"

"Only from the outside," Natasha answered. "You two don't match... but you do."

There wasn't any better way Scott could think of to describe the situation. He and Logan should by rights have still been at each other's throats. Instead they'd fallen into something far more comfortable and positive than he would've thought possible. "She isn't wrong," he tossed over his shoulder to Logan. 

Natasha reached up, smoothing Scott's hair. "I think the two of you are adorable. Besides, it's more productive this way. I'm pretty sure you'd be killing each other if you weren't fucking."

Logan couldn't help a quiet laugh at that. He turned his head to look at Scott from the corner of his eye. "Maybe." He was pretty sure he should have been bothered by the fact that Nat was playing with his boyfriend's hair, but it didn't worry him. Maybe because he knew Scott wasn't going anywhere. Or maybe just the sense of camaraderie that came from her doting on Scott. Or maybe it was the fact that she was hot as hell. //Probably that one.//

The pace of the music picked up, and Natasha drifted a little further away. "Come on. I think we've reached the point in the evening where shots are appropriate." She beckoned to a waitress and had a tray of shots on the way quickly. "Jello shots. We're going classic today, boys."

Scott looked skeptically at the multi-colored tray, but he didn't say no when Natasha put one of the shot glasses into his hand. He shook his head and took the shot, tossing it back. The overly sweet jello removed any burn from the vodka, and he had to allow, "Not bad, actually."

Logan gave Nat and then the tray a skeptical look. He definitely wasn't the sort for having his alcohol fruity, but he accepted the proffered drink in the spirit of the evening. The shot was sweet, too sweet, but the vodka gave him a nice split-second buzz, and he smiled faintly. "Alright, not as terrible as it could be," he allowed, putting the cup back down. Scott seemed to be pretty enamored with the concoction, and the idea of seeing Nat and Scott drunk sounded pretty damned amusing. Logan was having a hard time remembering the last time he'd smiled and laughed so much - even if it wasn't that much by most people's standards - and he wasn't about to be a spoilsport.

"Let's make this interesting. We play a round of I've Never Ever. I say something I've done, and if either of you have, you do a shot, then you say something... basically until we're too drunk to remember how to form sentences," Natasha explained. She got a nod of approval from Scott and thought it through. "I've never fought in an actual war."

Logan took a shot and smirked. "I'm not sure if this is more unfair for you two, or for me." When you'd lived as long as Logan had, the list of things you'd never done was pretty goddamn short. But at least he didn't run the risk of actually getting drunk. "Alright. Not a lot o' things to work with for me. Let's see... I've never cross-dressed. That I remember."

Scott picked up a shot and tossed it back. "It was Halloween," he explained with a hint of a smile. "And I have great legs." He thought for a moment and tried to think of something interesting. "I've never had a threesome."

Nat snorted and picked up another shot. "You're missing out," she observed before tossing it back.

Logan reminded himself that Scott hadn't even been around as he reached for a shot. "Kinda might have to agree with that," he said, though he really hoped Scott wouldn't ask for details. It sounded like an awkward proposition to have to explain that to his lover. He then tilted his head at Nat, smirking a little. "Is that part of the training for you guys? Startin' to get the feelin' that's just how business is done around here."

The implications of what Logan was saying filtered in to even Scott's increasingly bleary mind. "Wait... around here? You... wait, you... since you got here?" he hissed in what was meant to be a whisper but didn't quite drop low enough to manage it.

Natasha shook her head. If Logan had kept his mouth shut, she suspected that the man wouldn't have been the wiser. Scott was obviously buzzed and having a good time. He looked more confused than distressed by the idea that Logan had been so sexually adventurous in the brief time he'd been with the Avengers. "I wouldn't say it's part of the training program, but you learn to enjoy yourself while you can."

Logan hadn't quite meant his comment that way, but he realized a moment later it had been pretty revealing nonetheless. He wanted to kick himself. Instead, he met Scott's eyes, looking half amused and slightly nervous. "Yeah, since I got here. But before you did," he was quick to clarify. "I was curious. About a few things." Not remembering whether he'd been with a guy before had been first and foremost among his list of curiosities. Going to bed with Captain America had been a plus, too.

Scott was still gaping. "Oh, you've gotta give me more than that. Come on!"

Natasha passed Scott another shot. "I think that's a double," she affirmed, watching as he downed it before smiling at Logan. "You opened the door, so spill. You tell yours and maybe I'll be nice and tell some of mine." Natasha had been part of plenty of interesting scenarios, and she had no real problem disclosing them - especially if it got Logan talking.

Since Scott seemed more curious than horrified, Logan quirked a faint smile. Talking was saving him having to shove down more jello. That was already a plus. The fact that Scott seemed actually excited at the prospect made it even more interesting. Add that to Nat's offer, "Alright. But Scott, I just wanna remind ya that you asked me to tell ya." He leaned in and grinned. "So, Nat, I know you at least heard about the whole explosive mess with Tony and Steve... What stayed outta the press is that I kinda ended up goin' to bed with 'em that night too."

Natasha burst out laughing and then covered her mouth. "Sorry, it isn't... no, actually, it's really funny."

Scott was still busy staring at Logan like he was speaking Greek, but finally he snorted and took the shot that Natasha had handed him. "I think I'm flattered. You slept with Iron Man and Captain America, and you still thought I was worth picking up." He shrugged and made sure they all had something to drink in hand. "That's worth drinking to."

"Za Vas!" Natasha clicked her glass against each man's in turn and then smiled at Scott. "For the record - and, Logan, stop me if I'm wrong on this - I don't expect it was a real step down for him. Given that scoop, I take requests. Men? Women?" She smiled at the slightly stunned look on Scott's face and decided to keep the disclosure salacious but not specific. "It's fun showing off sometimes. Not really a threesome. Just fucking with an audience. Luckily Clint has plenty of friends who enjoy watching." Natasha arched an eyebrow in Logan's direction. "How's that?"

"Who the hell wouldn't wanna watch?" he asked, then remembered Scott was right next to him. "So you two and Coulson haven't had a game o' round robin, then? Kinda surprised, actually," Logan admitted. 

"Phil's more private about that kind of thing," Natasha answered simply. "What happened with us was a one off. Normally he'd consider sleeping with an asset decidedly unprofessional." Given that he was currently off doing god only knew what with Clint, she knew it seemed counter-intuitive. "I'm hoping things with Clint will be a little different. They both deserve something different." She wasn't in mourning at the potential loss of one of her favorite bed mates. Whether the three of them came to an understanding or not, Natasha wanted Clint happy a lot more than she needed to get laid. "What about the two of you?"

Scott almost choked on the water he'd been sipping between shots to try to stave off at least the worst of the hangover the next day. "Us?"

"Yeah. I know you haven't done any sharing yet, but have you thought about it?" she answered smoothly.

Logan arched an eyebrow in response. “Why, you offerin’?”

"That depends on whether I'd be horrifying my new coworkers by offering," Natasha answered, looking to Scott. "I don't tend to invite myself to things like this - well, with anyone but Clint. He doesn't get a vote."

The offer and the idea in general was something Scott hadn't ever thought about. Jean hadn't been particularly adventurous when it came to sex, and he'd learned to modulate his requests accordingly. Maybe it was the alcohol talking, but for some reason it didn't sound like a terrible idea. "I don't think I'd hate that."

"Oh, I know you wouldn't hate it," Nat agreed. "It's just a matter of whether you'd be willing to do it."

Scott glanced back at Logan. "I think it might be kind of fun."

Logan grinned broadly. Maybe he couldn't get drunk, but he was definitely convinced that alcohol was an amazing substance. "Oh, I know it could be fun," he rumbled, leaning in to press his lips to Scott's. He wasn't sure if he owed Scott or Nat more for this one. "Pretty sure you won't regret it. Especially considerin' the company." He wondered absently about the remark regarding Clint's freedom of choice but decided to let the comment lie. He had a feeling that Nat and Clint had a relationship on a whole other level of complicated.

Scott smiled right back. The truth was he was pretty sure he wasn't going to regret it. He'd spent most of his formative sexual years with a single person, and while he didn't regret that either, he was ready to do things differently. Scott felt secure with Logan. They'd gone through more together before they even got together than a lot of couples did throughout the whole course of their relationship. They would be fine. "That said? I think I'm pretty okay with finishing this tray of shots first."

"That is a very reasonable request," Natasha agreed, though she also pushed the water closer to Scott, "as long as you have some of that too. I won't be there to enjoy it, but morning after puking isn't sexy."

Logan grinned. Scott drunk was turning out to not just be entertaining, but more or less the most amazing thing ever. As if to keep Scott focused, Logan casually ran a hand up the man's thigh, hooking his thumb in Scott's belt. "Just don't take too long," he said, grabbing a shot for himself. "Hate to have to fuck you right here in this booth. Might have some explainin' to do when we get back," he said, giving Nat a faint smile to let her know he hadn't forgotten she was also on the menu.

"There could be charges. While I'm not opposed to escaping from the police, I don't want to have to meet with Fury first thing in the morning." Natasha found buzzed Scott rather charming. He was cute to start with, but relaxed and unencumbered by his recent experiences, he was pretty adorable. She let her hand drift up his leg while she tossed back another shot. Natasha grabbed one more from the tray and sent Clint a quick text, I'LL OWE YOU CAB MONEY. HAVE PLANS FOR THE NIGHT. She was feeling pleasantly buzzed herself.

Scott leaned back against Logan with a happy sigh and snatched the last shot from the tray, downing it. "You still up to being our designated driver, baby?"

Natasha smirked at the endearment. "I already texted Clint. I'm sure he and Coulson can split a cab."

"I'm sure they can," Logan agreed with a smirk. The three made sure their tabs were taken care of, and Logan led the charge back to the SUV. He'd already insisted on getting the keys from Clint before they'd ever entered the club, and the three of them piled into the vehicle and were on the road quickly enough. Logan was pretty glad for the center console next to the driver's seat, because he was pretty sure that he'd otherwise have dragged Scott over next to him and done some breathtakingly distracted driving on the way back.

Once the SUV was parked, Logan casually sauntered around to where Scott was disembarking and immediately dragged his lover into a deep, sensual kiss, then glanced at Nat as she got out. "So, your place or ours?"

"Yours," Natasha answered with a smile. "Then you boys can get some rest when we're done. You'll need it." Despite the words, Natasha still led the way. She knew where everyone’s room was. Strategically, it was just good sense to know where all of her teammates were. At the door, Natasha leaned against the wall and grabbed Scott by the shirt, tugging him into a demanding kiss while she waited for Logan to open the door.

It wasn't hard to fall into the moment with Natasha's curves fitting snugly against him and her lips doing positively sinful things. If he'd experienced even a moment of doubt, the kiss effectively killed them, and Scott leaned into the kiss eagerly.

Logan felt only the faintest hint of jealousy at the sight. Mostly, seeing the two tangled together and knowing that he got to play as well just made it that much more intriguing. Once he got the door open, he noted that the two didn't seem to be intent on immediately going through it, and he grabbed Nat and pulled her to himself for a fast, hard kiss, one powerful arm curled around her waist. "Let's move this inside," he decided with a smirk, letting Nat go to tug Scott into the room. Logan wasted no time tugging his shirt off and tossing his belt aside, but he left the jeans in place for the moment.

Natasha stumbled happily inside, latching herself onto Logan again as soon as his shirt was gone. "Why do you even wear shirts?" she muttered, fingers running down his chest to explore the muscular planes. "You really shouldn't." 

"I keep telling him that," Scott agreed, moving in behind his lover and kissing Logan's shoulder. There didn't seem to be any particular script to what they were doing, and he was perfectly happy to wing it. As long as they all had a good time, it didn't really matter. His hands slid around front to edge his fingertips into the waistband of Logan's jeans. "Or pants. Pants are overrated."

Logan quirked an eyebrow, giving them both a cocky half-smile even as the feel of Scott's fingers teasing around his waistband sent his pulse up a few notches. "Think my ego might get outta control with you to givin' me all this attention," he rumbled, looking not at all bothered by the idea. Reaching back, he pulled Scott into a brief but intense kiss, his other hand finding Nat's hip and pulling her closer so that he could lean down and capture her lips a moment later. "Can't say I object to havin' two hot bodies pressed against me, though..."

Nat pulled away, but it was only so she could shed her shirt and step out of her jeans. Beneath she wore a matching set of lacy black bra and panties. "You never know when you're going to need to look good naked," the woman explained with a shrug before closing the distance again to tug off Scott's shirt. "Oh, very nice..." Natasha's soft fingers ran over Scott's arms and his chest with a smile of obvious pleasure. "The two of you are quite the matched set." Where Scott looked soft, gentle somehow despite his muscle tone, Logan was all massive muscles and obvious strength. "I suppose it bears asking ahead of time what you boys might be looking for tonight. Any ideas?"

Logan was busy taking in the sight of Nat in nothing but some very incredible looking underwear. The woman was all hard lines and grace, feminism and deadly strength all rolled together in perfect, equal measure. When he finally caught up to the question, he shrugged, glancing at Scott. "Think I'd rather wing it." He smiled faintly. "Few too many options to ask me to commit to somethin', darlin'," he said, closing distance on the two and hooking an arm around each waist. He gave Nat a pointed look before his lips attacked Scott's neck, making it a point to suck on those perfect spots he knew would make the man squirm. At the same time, he slid two fingers into the lacy string of Nat's underwear right where it passed over her hip, not wanting her to feel ignored. He was showing off a bit, not in the least because he had a feeling she enjoyed the idea of him fucking Scott as much as the idea of one of them fucking her.

Scott didn't bother holding back. He wouldn’t have said no anyway, and his filters were more or less gone thanks to the shots. He arched into Logan's body, his lips parting as Logan worked all of his most vulnerable spots in quick succession. Already hard, his cock strained against his tight pants as Logan pushed all the right buttons. 

It was a hell of a show, and one Logan had guessed rightly that Natasha appreciated. She'd always enjoyed watching Clint take control of his lovers, and it wasn't any different seeing Logan working Scott up. The two of them were fucking beautiful together. "Oh, I'm definitely okay with winging it. Tell me, Logan, that pretty mouth of his... is it as talented as it looks?"

"You bet it is, sweetheart," Logan replied, leaning down to nip at her neck as he deftly unfastened her bra with one hand. He gently cupped one firm breast, lightly twisting the nipple between thumb and forefinger. His mouth made it's way up to her ear, licking around the edge of it before lightly tugging on her earlobe. His other hand was sliding down the back of Scott's jeans, groping the man's ass and pulling him closer to both of them. "Though I couldn't personally tell ya if he's as good at eatin' pussy as he is at suckin' cock."

"Well, I could brag, but I'd rather just show you," Scott answered. He didn't want to skip any of the steps of foreplay, but the idea of watching Natasha fall apart while he buried his tongue between her legs was definitely a sexy one. 

The woman fairly purred as she arched into Logan's touch. "I'll hold you to that." 

Scott grinned up at her and, with Logan positioned behind her, sank to the floor and hooked his thumbs beneath her panties. He dragged them down, kissing his way up Natasha's thigh. While she braced herself on his shoulders and by leaning back into Logan's chest, Scott licked carefully at the woman's clit. He loved the sound of her breath catching, and the way her hips rolled sinuously.

Logan's hands settled on her narrow waist for a moment, just enjoying the feeling of her perfectly toned body moving fluidly against him in response to Scott's attentions. Slowly, he moved his hands up to the curve of her breasts, fingers tweaking her nipples. He pressed himself firmly against her back, letting her feel the swell of his arousal against her ass through his jeans as he leaned down to lick and suck at her neck. He could hear her pulse accelerate as Scott's tongue started working her. "Guess he is just as good," he rumbled in her ear, sounding more amused than surprised. One of his hands strayed down to run through Scott's hair and Logan's hazel eyes stayed fixed on his lover over Natasha's shoulder as Scott worked his magic.

"Oh, he definitely is," Natasha panted as Scott's tongue slipped inside of her and then back to her clit. "He's... done this... once or twice." She wasn't sure what was sexier, Scott's oral skills or Logan's hard body and strong hands on hers. The night was playing out better than she'd let herself hope, and they were just getting started. 

//She even tastes good,// Scott mused as he licked and sucked, working to exploit every advantage in his arsenal. There was no reason not to get Natasha off as often as possible. Given the way she was riding the waves with her hips, Scott suspected she wasn't going to hold out for long. He was good at paying attention to what she liked, and Natasha obviously didn't have any issue with moving herself to get just the right angle.

"Good," Logan murmured, his hand moving from Scott's hair to Natasha's thigh, his fingers trailing along the crease before he gently pulled her outer lips aside to give Scott's questing tongue better access. Feeling the woman's body shift against him, listening to her breath catch, was making him hot as hell. He ground his hardening cock against her ass, letting out a moan that sounded more like a growl as he felt Scott's tongue brush against his fingers. He nipped hard at Natasha's shoulder as if to vent some of his rising lust, his eyes fixed on the show before him as he held the woman tight against him.

Natasha hadn't been flattering Scott for nothing. He knew exactly what he was doing, and soon her breathy moans turned into a sharp cry of pleasure as her hips jerked against Logan's hand and Scott's tongue. Instead of stopping, Scott worked her through the release and licked at the juices dripping down her thighs. "If you ever get tired of him," she ground herself back against Logan, "call me."

Scott laughed and nipped at her thigh. "Not likely. But he might be nice enough to share every now and then." He rose and kissed Logan over Natasha's shoulder to share the taste of her with the other man and enjoy the heat of her soft body stretched out between them. His own denim-clad erection ground teasingly against her most sensitive areas and left Scott gasping into Logan's mouth.

Logan groaned into the kiss, savoring the taste of Nat's sex on Scott's lips. He briefly dragged his fingers over the woman's sensitized clit before blindly unfastening Scott's fly and shoving denim and underwear away. His fingers wrapped around Scott's exposed cock, slicking precum over the shaft as his other hand cupped Scott's cheek gently in spite of his rising passion. "Definitely... not gonna get tired o' you," he agreed between sloppy, anxious kisses, "but might talk me into sharin' again..."

"Glad to hear it," Natasha purred, already moving her hips against Scott's cock and Logan's hand to remind them both what they had to look forward to. "Let's make sure everyone's as ready for the main event as Scott here is." It didn't surprise her that he was hard as a rock. Good as he was at going down on a girl, she'd pretty much expected him to get something out of it. 

Scott groaned as Natasha sank to her knees and unzipped Logan's fly. She was licking his cock like a lollipop seconds later, and Scott took himself in hand to watch the show.

Logan made a soft sound of arousal as the woman's tongue started working his cock. "Fuck..." he murmured, watching Nat's tongue working over his shaft like it was the only thing she'd wanted all evening. He'd already been turned on, and it didn't take much to get him to full hardness. Tearing his eyes away from Nat, Logan caught sight of Scott watching them, his blue eyes so dark it was unreal. Not above showing off for his lover as well as their guest, Logan let his eyes flutter shut and his head fall back a bit, moaning his pleasure as his hips rocked into Nat's attentions.

It was a thing of beauty to watch the two of them together. Natasha obviously knew not only how to make it feel good but how to make it look good. She even looked over and meet Scott's gaze before finally taking the head of Logan's cock into her mouth. Scott knew the taste well enough that his mouth watered at the thought.

It was easy to put on a show with such good material to work with. There wasn't a chance in hell that Natasha would let the man cum, but she wanted to make sure Logan was hot and hard and ready. "When I'm done with you, I want to see you bend Scott over that bed and fuck him - assuming you’re both interested in that."

"Twist my arm, darlin'," Logan breathed, cock throbbing hard in her mouth. His fingers tangled in red hair, and he moaned groaned deeply at the feel of her tongue working him. A quick glance at Scott and a nod were all the assurance he needed that they were both on board. Natasha figured out the right spots easily, her tongue dragging over the most sensitive parts of his cock. "Fuck, you look good down there." Eyes dark with lust of his own sought Scott out, and Logan moaned again at the look on his lover's face. Holding his hand out, he tugged Scott over next to him and pulled the man into a harsh kiss, his tongue thrusting against his lover's eagerly.

Scott's whole world narrowed in to focus on the kiss and the taste of Logan on his tongue. He couldn't help but glance down at Natasha sucking his lover like her life depended on it, and Scott moaned into the kiss.

Natasha could feel Logan swelling until he was painfully hard in her mouth. Heedless of Logan's grip on her hair, she drew back and grinned wickedly up at the man. "Do you want to get him ready, or should I?" she purred. Natasha definitely didn't want to disrupt their rhythm, but she couldn't deny that she wanted another chance to get her hands all over Scott too.

Logan started to tell her he'd do it, then seemed to change his mind. "You do it," he decided, letting go of Nat and taking hold of Scott. He nipped at the man's neck, his tongue soothing over the fading bruises from the events of the last few days as he pulled his lover tight against him. He let out a harsh sigh as their cocks slid together, nuzzling Scott's throat and jaw. "Feel good, baby," he murmured softly.

"God, so do you," Scott murmured. He barely noticed as Logan and Natasha manhandled him onto the bed. He was too busy kissing Logan. He dimly heard the cap pop on their bottle of lube, so Natasha's slick hand sliding up over his thigh wasn't entirely unexpected. He let his legs fall open, and he gasped into Logan's mouth as she slowly began to work him open.

Watching the men kissing was lovely. It wasn't the hunger, it was the sweetness beneath it that made her unable to look away. Natasha kept things slow. She was enjoying the show, and she wanted to built Scott's hunger carefully so that he didn't go off like a rocket the second Logan finally slid home. It was better to draw it out. They had awhile before the alcohol wore off and headaches and dehydration became an issue. She didn't want to distract the boys, but Natasha still couldn't resist nipping at the skin of Scott's thigh while she slid in a second finger.

Logan's arm was across Scott's waist, his fingers digging lightly into the man's side as Scott writhed against him and nipping roughly at Scott's neck, marking the man as his own as if to make up for the bruises Barton had left. Logan could still see teeth in the bitemark on Scott's shoulder, and it made him feel that much more possessive. Drawing back, he watched Scott squirm in response to Natasha's attentions, fascinated by the play of pleasure on his lover's face. It wasn't anything he hadn't seen before, but being able to focus purely on Scott's reactions without having to concentrate on what he was doing made it that much more intense. He watched the shift in the curve of his lover's parted lips, the flutter of his tongue and the heaving of his chest for several moments before leaning in again to press their lips together. Logan's own cock was throbbing hard against Scott's thigh, and he couldn't wait until he got to slide into his lover's tight heat.

 

Natasha slid a third finger home, stretching Scott wider and still licking at his hips, his thighs, whatever she could reach. It was delicious to see Scott's hips rising and falling with the stimulation. His bruises were fading, and his body seemed ready for more. 

Scott panted into his lover's mouth. He was already aching for it, wanting Logan to fuck him. No matter how good Natasha's fingers felt, they were nothing compared to that. The bumps and bruises were nothing compared to the pleasure he felt with both of them working him up. "Think I can take you," he pointed out to Logan. "I think it's enough." He knew he sounded like he was asking permission, and he was to some degree. After everything, he understood that it was all a lot to take in, but he wanted Logan to be willing to take the ride with him and fuck him into the mattress. 

"D'you think he's right?" Nat licked a line up Scott's dripping cock. "I'll stop whenever you boys say it's time."

Logan smirked down at Natasha, eyes so dark they were almost black. "Probably not quite," he rumbled, "but I think he wants it that way." He gestured for Nat to move, then grabbed Scott's shoulder and unceremoniously flipped him onto his stomach. Logan was on top of him in an instant, nipping at the back of Scott's neck as he let his aching shaft drag between perfect buttocks. He licked and sucked and raised a hickey on a part of his lover's neck that would make it obvious to anyone who thought about it just what angle it had come from, then breathed in Scott's ear, "Tell me what you want. I wanna hear it."

"I want you to fuck me," Scott panted on cue. He actually trembled at Logan's breath against his ear and the commanding tone of his lover's voice. "Please, baby, I need you." He didn't want to leave Natasha out, but she didn't matter for the moment. Nothing mattered but having Logan sliding inside him.

Natasha didn't mind the interlude in the slightest. She lay back on the bed, her own hand sliding between her legs as she watched Scott begging his lover for what he needed. //Absolutely beautiful.// One hand reached out , and her fingers ran through Scott’s hair with deceptive gentility. "I'm not sure that was specific enough."

He groaned at the reminder of her presence and managed, "I want... Logan, I want you to fuck me until I cum, please..."

Logan groaned his pleasure at the need in Scott's voice. "Fuck yes, baby," he rumbled, placing a gentle bite right below Scott's ear. A skillful shift, and he was slowly sliding into his lover's tight heat, letting out a short, tense moan as he slid home. "Fuck, you're a tight little bitch," he growled. He wasn't sure how Scott would tolerate a little bit of name-calling, but it seemed to fit with the way things were going. He stretched his neck out to nip at the ridge of Scott's ear, his tongue running over the flesh a moment later as his gaze shifted to Nat, drinking in the sight of her pleasuring herself.

Natasha saw the way Scott writhed at the words, at Logan taking him. Apparently it hadn't been just Loki's influence that allowed Scott to enjoy Clint's attentions. He was usually less than gentle with the guys he hooked up with as Scott's bruises attested. She filed the information away. Maybe it would make Clint feel at least moderately less horrible about the whole incident. She slid two fingers inside herself as Logan teased Scott with slow and careful to start things off.

The treatment was having its intended effect, and Scott could barely get himself together enough to demand what he wanted. It was surprisingly overwhelming to see Natasha lying next to them fucking herself with her fingers while Logan growled into his ear. "Harder... Logan, please... fuck me harder," he finally panted, driving himself back against his lover's hips in a desperate bid for more.

Logan didn't immediately oblige, taking his time, savoring the slow building pleasure. He hadn't missed the way Scott responded to the rough words, and he nipped at the man's shoulder before biting into the taught flesh, marking his lover close to the same spot Clint had. Scott was his, and he didn't want the man to forget it. One of Logan's hands slid down to Scott's waist, gripping him tight, his thrusts slowing as he drew back and then slamming forward hard. "Like that? Is that how you like to be fucked?" he growled, nuzzling Scott's cheek and moaning softly.

"Y-yes," Scott managed, shuddering in response to the stinging pleasure of Logan's teeth digging into his skin. He knew there would be a mark, knew even as it happened that Logan was reclaiming him, and the primal nature of that thought was shockingly hot. "Fuck, Logan... fuck..."

"You heard the man," Natasha purred. "He wants to be fucked." She found it fascinating watching Scott come undone. He was relatively buttoned up in public. Not stiff, but certainly polite and quiet. She wondered what he would be like once he came down from everything that had happened and settled into his new life. Something told her that would be a whole different kind of a guy than the one she was coming to know.

Logan gave Nat a look that was so full of lust that he barely seemed human even as a glint of humor flickered behind his eyes. Still holding her gaze, he placed another bite on Scott's shoulder, then refocused fully on his lover. He stopped thrusting almost completely, letting Scott writhe for a moment before he started moving, redoubling his pace. He growled, low and deep as his shaft pistoned in and out of Scott's hole, his hand clamping down hard on his lover's lean hip.

Natasha did everything that she could to match Logan's pace. Her fingers thrust hard and fast along with Logan's punishing pace, and soon she was moaning aloud, her head tossing against the pillow. Part of it was show, of course, but part of it was the fact that she found herself already close to exploding again. 

Scott lost all sense of their companion in that moment. He was too busy whimpering and panting as Logan fucked him harder, faster. "Close, baby, so close," he managed, ready to explode but unconsciously waiting for Logan to tell him it was okay to let go.

Logan's only regret was that he couldn't get a good look at Scott's face. Still, the sight of the man writhing underneath him, the sounds of his desperate gasps, were more than entertainment enough, and the show Natasha was putting on was top notch as well. Logan nipped at the skin behind Scott's ear, then rasped, "Cum for me, slut... show me how much you love this."

Scott all but screamed his lover's name as he came over the comforter. His ass clenched hard around Logan's cock. He forced his eyes open at the sound of Natasha crying out as well. He'd beat her by only a few seconds. While Logan continued to thrust into his over-sensitive body, Scott watched as she arched off the bed and moaned her release for the second time that night. 

Logan slowed his thrusts slightly as he relished Scott's orgasm, the way his lover's ass squeezed him tight, the ragged cry of pleasure. The feral mutant allowed himself to cum a moment later, growling his release as he spilled himself inside Scott's tight heat. As he felt his arms starting to give out, he shifted to lay beside Scott, drawing him close and pressing a kiss to his lips, "Love ya," before he reached over and dragged Nat in for one, too. "Thanks for the fun, darlin'," he murmured.

"Oh, believe me, anytime," she agreed with a throaty chuckle before stealing a kiss from Scott too. "You boys are absolutely beautiful, and if you ever need a little extra something? Call me. If I'm free, I might just show up." Natasha slipped from bed and didn't bother cleaning up before she tugged her pants and shirt back on, balling up her underwear in a hand without any apparent shame at the idea of walking through the Tower holding it. She gave the boys a final wave before sauntering from the room.

Scott watched her go, too tired and sated to worry about calling after her. He just smiled and burrowed in closer to Logan. "Mmm, you were right. That was fun," he affirmed, "but now I'm glad it's just us for the cuddly sleeping part. I like that part."

"Same here. And I don't haveta worry about 240 pounds of Captain America rolling over on me," he added. While having a metal skeleton meant outweighing even Steve by a solid amount, the guy sleeping on his arm hadn't felt good. He pressed his lips to Scott's hair. "'Sides, you're cuter." His voice roughened a little as he added, "And I like the way you moan when I talk dirty to ya."

Scott blushed. "I... that... I didn't exactly expect to get off on that," he answered, sounding almost nervous. It was one thing knowing that Logan liked it, but it was still strange. He still felt somehow less than knowing that he enjoyed being debased like that. At least, he worried that Logan might look at him that way. All it took was actually meeting Logan's gaze and some of the worry unfurled. "Kind of finding a lot of new things lately."

Logan tugged Scott into a gentle kiss. "Look, darlin'... what you get yer jollies from in bed... maybe that's part o' who you are, but it don't define you," he said, pressing their foreheads together. "I don't think any less o' you. What happens in here stays in here, alright?" He didn't want Scott to feel awkward for liking the things he did. Sometimes people that in control needed someone to take that away from them, and the bedroom was an easy place for that to happen.

Relieved, Scott nodded. "Okay. Got it." He laughed and shook his head. "It's stupid. I mean, I don't feel weird doing the things, then after... I guess it's talking about it." As much as he hated to bring up his ex given the role she'd played in their initial friction, Scott felt the need to explain, "With Jean it was always pretty straightforward. Not vanilla, but not much past that. Realizing that I like so many things that would've been totally off menu before is taking some adjusting."

Logan laughed. He couldn't help it. The idea that Jean might be vanilla... Well, maybe he hadn't missed out in as much as he'd thought. "Just promise me one thing, Scott," he said, tipping Scott's head up to look at him. "If there's ever anything you wanna try, let me know. Not a lot I wouldn't consider, especially for you."

"I can do that," Scott answered, and he knew he could with Logan. He knew he wouldn't get shut down or made fun of, and that was a rather large revelation. He let it sink in and smiled up at the other man. "That goes both ways. If I'm not comfortable with something, I'll tell you, or if I'd like to but not yet or... whatever. You don't have to sell what you want short because you think I might not be on board."

"So I should get the saddle and bridle out of the closet," Logan dead panned, but he was only able to keep a straight face for a half second. He grinned faintly. "Alright, deal." He gathered Scott close and buried his face in the man's hair. "Love you."

"I love you too," Scott answered, unable to keep the smile from his face. He would never have pictured being with Logan as something easy or comfortable. As it turned out, it was both. "I never thought I'd be at a place in my life where so much is changing all at the same time and you of all people would end up being the one who treated me like it was normal. Thank you."

Logan tilted his head. "Don't haveta thank me, but you're welcome." He huffed out a quiet laugh. "I guess I'm just so used to shit bein' weird and changin' that I don't give it a second thought. Just par for the course in my world." He ruffled Scott's already-mussed hair. "But it is a little crazy soundin' when you put it that way. Guess tryin' to kick your ass was my way of sayin' 'call me, maybe'."

"If you start to sing, I'll punch you, adamantium skeleton or no," Scott grumbled in return, though he smirked a second later. "Yeah, maybe being a total dick to you was the same. As it turns out, maybe I was just desperately sexually repressed and subconsciously knew that you would be a really good option to take care of that." He leaned in and kissed Logan thoroughly only to sag back down onto the bed, exhausted. "I need sleep."

"Fine," Logan sighed as if put out. He was far from exhausted, but having a healing factor could do that for you. He still didn't mind the idea of sleep, though, and he pulled Scott in close to him. "Kinda unfair, though, tellin' me I can take care o' your needs and then goin' to sleep. I think ya might owe me one." He closed his eyes, then mumbled, "Also, regarding the singin', I'm not the one who had a Backstreet Boys in the CD player when I stole your car and drove to Bobby's house."

"Fuck you, Logan. It was NSync," Scott countered, nuzzling into Logan's embrace just the same. He fell asleep happy and sticky and ridiculously relaxed. He managed, for once, to wake the same way. There was no panic. He'd had no bad dreams at all. Scott smiled and shifted. He also felt a little gross, but a morning shower could take care of that. Carefully he edged away from Logan and padded into the bathroom, turning on the water and stepping under it with a sigh of relief.

Logan woke to the sound of running water. He stretched lazily and kicked the covers off, smirking as he padded into the bathroom. With zero warning for his lover, he slipped into the shower with the other man and pressed him against the wall, his lips immediately finding Scott's neck and working a few of the sweet spots there before he drew back and gave Scott a casual peck on the lips. "'Mornin'," he said as if nothing had happened.

Scott let out a groan but didn't really protest. He liked it. Scott ducked his head under the water and grabbed the shampoo. "Morning," he returned, scrubbing off the remains of the previous day. The night before he'd wondered what it would all feel like in the harsh light of day. Thanks to Natasha's insistence on hydration and the fact that she'd apparently left aspirin on the night stand, Scott didn't feel too bad. His headache was a dull pressure at the back of his skull, but nothing he couldn't handle. "Maybe getting a place of my own's a terrible idea. I kinda like waking up this way."

Logan nodded his agreement, snagging the soap and scrubbing down. "I think I kinda agree," he said, pressing his lips to Scott's throat before herding him out of the spray so he could rinse off. "I might get insecure without you to cuddle. And besides, all the fun people live here," he pointed out with a wink.

The words were surprisingly affecting, and Scott found himself fighting back tears. It was silly, but he wasn't used to focusing on his own problems. He'd spent most of his life trying to fix things for everyone around him without ever tending to his own needs more than he absolutely had to. //And this is where I end up when I don't bother,// he realized with a hint of a smile. "Let's get dried off. I need to go talk to Fury, see about setting up a real schedule to learn the office work side of things here and maybe get hooked up with a shrink. What are you up to today?"

Logan shut off the water, much as he wanted to stay there with Scott. "Stark and his science buddies want me to go look at their newest raygun, I guess," he said, grabbing a towel and running Scott down before taking care of himself. "Then I'm gonna drink all the beer I can find that looks like it belongs to Stark. And maybe work out," he said with a smirk.

"Maybe I can finish up and join you for that last part." A solid workout sounded pretty good. He'd been active, more or less, but that wasn't the same as really working to keep in shape. He missed the challenge and the thrill of pushing himself as hard as humanly possible to get to the edge. "I bet you'd make a pretty good trainer," Scott observed as he threw on his clothes from the night before for the walk back to his own apartment. "I'll text you when I get everything settled." He grabbed Logan's shirt and kissed him soundly. "And I'll miss you in the meantime."

Logan didn't let Scott move away until he'd grabbed a second kiss. "Be happy to help ya train," he agreed, forcing himself to let go of his lover. He moved to start dressing as Scott headed for the door. "Love ya, darlin'."


	8. Light in Dark Corners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Clint and Phil get to know each other better. A whole lot better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clint/Phil smut and sweetness because they're goddamn adorable.

Clint nodded, already scanning for a more private place for them to slip away to, half surprised that Coulson was willing to play along. Not about to hesitate in case his handler changed his mind, the archer grabbed Coulson by the hand and dragged him to a quiet nook that he was well familiar with. Too buzzed to bother with words, Clint clamped his hands on Coulson's hips and pressed him against the wall. He pressed beer-tinged lips to Phil's, molding himself hotly against the other man and giving his hips a long, slow roll against Coulson's.

That one movement was enough to destroy any lingering doubts Coulson might have had about what they were doing. He grabbed the back of Clint's head and crushed their lips together. He let adrenaline take over. It was like being on a mission. For a brief moment, everything but the man against him disappeared. With his other hand on Clint's hip, Coulson couldn't help wondering if it would all be real once he sobered up.

Clint moaned as Coulson dragged him closer, his hips rocking instinctually against the other man's. With a soft gasp, he broke the kiss, nipping at Phil's neck as his hands moved from hips to shirt. His fingers trailed over Phil's abdomen, feeling the lean muscles, the dusting of hair. His handler wasn't cut like he was, but Clint could feel the lean strength in him nonetheless. The archer's fingers dipped into Coulson's waistband, teasing the skin beneath briefly before one strong, nimble hand slid between Phil's legs. Clint couldn't help the sharp gasp that escaped him as his fingers traced the outline of Phil's cock through his jeans. "Jesus..." he breathed, his voice rough and deep against Coulson's ear. "You... God, you really *are* hung."

The touch was enough to make him feel like he couldn't breathe. The words, husky and hot and absolutely perfect, made Phil moan in a way that was a lot needier than he would have liked. The hands that had been pushing eagerly under Clint's shirt froze for a moment while he tried to get himself under control. He shook it off and recovered again a beat later. "Glad to hear you approve," he managed, fingers running across Clint's muscled back. He gave up on that a to cup Clint through his too-tight jeans with a sigh of pleasure. "Not doing too bad yourself."

Clint was hoping Coulson hadn't heard the soft whimper that escaped him when he wrapped his hand around the archer's cock. It took him a moment to remember that he had other things to take care of, and he fumbled with Phil's belt and fly before he finally managed to get his hand into his partner's underwear. He pressed his cheek to Coulson's, his hand wrapping surely around his handler's cock as he breathed, "Hope you're okay with me sucking you until your eyes roll back and your knees buckle."

"I think I could probably be alright with that," Phil agreed. He couldn't quite bring himself to let go of Clint's cock right away. Only when he realized that Clint had other plans, that he'd clearly stated those plans, and that if he didn't let go Clint couldn't move forward with the plans did Phil finally manage to loose his grip. "Be happy to return the favor, just for the record." He savored the thought, actually, the idea of watching Clint fall apart.

The archer didn't reply, instead sliding to his knees in the most graceful way imaginable, his hands still tangled in Phil's pants. He tugged pants and underwear away far enough to get at the goods, leaning in until he knew Coulson would feel his breath, then pausing and looking up. He made sure he had his handler's full attention before he slowly licked a line up Phil's cock. His hands were inside Phil's shirt again, callused fingers tracing circles on hot skin as he savored the taste of Phil's arousal on his tongue.

It was a dream come true - a dream he'd fought very hard not to think about or remember in waking hours. It was dangerous to let himself remember. It was dangerous to let himself think about how much he wanted Clint when there was no way.... but there was, apparently. Clint was right there. Phil knew he hadn't drunk enough to be so far gone. He was drunk on something else, on the sight of Clint on his knees looking sexy as hell and licking his cock. Though one of his hands moved to Clint's hair, Phil didn't force anything. He didn't want to rush or risk doing anything to break the spell that kept them there together in that moment.

Clint's eyes drifted closed at the contact, his fingers digging into Phil's hips as if hanging on for dear life. It felt strange, being on his knees there in front of his handler, doing things he'd never really imagined doing. It sure as hell changed the context of all the times Phil had looked at him with razor sharp eyes and barked an order. Clint felt goosebumps rise on his skin at the thought. Clint's tongue wandered to the end of Phil's cock, cleaning the precum from it before he slowly started to take the shaft into his mouth. Phil was bigger than pretty much anyone Clint had ever been with, but the archer was definitely anxious to meet the challenge, his tongue sliding along the underside of the throbbing flesh as he focused on keeping his jaw relaxed.

"Not too fast," Phil cautioned. He couldn't look away. He couldn't do anything but watch Clint's beautiful lips parting to take him in like he didn't have the slightest bit of hesitation. It struck him that Clint had probably been a porn star in a past life to look so beautiful on his knees. "But don't stop." Stopping would have resulted at best in him losing what was left of his mind. Clint looked as dazed and stunned by the whole situation as he felt, and that was comforting to see. "You are so incredibly hot..."

The shaky rasp in Phil's voice was enough to drive a deep moan from Clint. He'd taken as much of Phil's cock as he could into his mouth, and he was bobbing his head slowly. He wouldn't be able to move fast for what was next, though. His handler's cock was far too big to shove it down his throat and let the man fuck his mouth like he wanted to. As Clint slid forward on Phil's cock once more, he let the shaft slide into his throat a bit, focusing to relax as the thick shaft pushed him past his usual limits. It felt good, though, and Clint's fingers dug into Phil's thighs as the archer's eyes rolled back and fluttered shut, another low moan rumbling up from his chest.

There weren't many people who were willing to try deep throating him. There were even fewer people who would try it on the first go in such an unorthodox situation. Which all somehow made it glaringly obvious that of course Clint Barton was going for it. Phil cursed under his breath and breathed in heavily to keep from thrusting. He wanted to encourage Clint's efforts, not hinder them. He couldn't look away from the sight of Clint sucking him off. It was easily the hottest thing he had ever seen in his life. "God, Clint, that... that's perfect..."

Clint groaned, reaching up and hooking his fingers over Coulson's hips as he worked the man's cock a little deeper into his throat. He could tell it was going to be a little tough to talk the next day, and he didn't give a damn. It felt good to see Phil losing it, to know he was the one causing it. Phil lost it in a much calmer fashion than most of Clint's partners, but knowing how well the man kept himself together in the field made it that much clearer how much he was falling apart now. The archer felt his eyes water as he pushed to get more of Phil down his throat and found himself wondering just how that thick shaft would feel inside him. He felt an answering throb from his own cock and moaned softly as his eyes rose to Phil's face once more.

"F-fuck, Clint," he groaned, fingers moving to Clint's shoulders to keep from grabbing him by the back of the head. He could see the tears in Clint's eyes, but he wasn't stopping anyway, and it was sexy as hell. His mind still couldn't fully process that Clint was there and sucking him off. He knew from a practical standpoint that he should have probably cautioned Clint to stop or slow down. He didn't. He couldn't, frankly, since coming up with any sort of coherent words was becoming progressively more difficult.

Clint squeezed his eyes shut, steadying his breathing. The shake in Coulson's voice and the feel of the man's cock filling his throat had him rock hard and light headed. Trying to focus on his breath, Clint doubled his efforts to take Phil all the way down, letting the man's shaft slide a little deeper with every bob of his head. It was a struggle, and by the time his lips were wrapped around the base of Phil's cock, his face was streaked with tears. He drew back, slid back down, and managed to establish a rhythm. That done, he grabbed the wrist of one of the hands resting on his shoulder and placed it on the back of his head, looking up at the man as he slowly took Phil down again, silently offering him permission to take control if he wanted.

Phil couldn't resist the silent urging. He put a hand on the back of Clint's head, and together they found a slow, steady rhythm. He knew better than to be rough, knew he wasn't going to last anyway. It was so fucking good he was holding on only by the skin of his teeth to begin with. "You look so fucking sexy right now... fuck, Clint..." Holding onto Clint was ultimately as much to steady himself as to guide the pace. "It's... won't be long," he admitted. Just watching Clint taking every last damn inch he could was almost enough to make him lose it alone, nevermind the spectacular feeling of Clint's throat closing in tightly around him.

Much as he was enjoying himself, Clint couldn't help feeling a little relieved at the announcement. He wanted to stay that way for a few hours, but realistically Phil's cock was a bit too much when he wasn't used to it. Anxious to get some relief, but even moreso to taste his partner's release, Clint sucked harder, swallowing and moaning around the rock hard shaft in his throat. One of his hands slid between his own legs, teasing himself as Phil used his throat in the most perfect way.

It took very little to get him to the edge. Phil had been close since the first kiss, and soon he was gasping, his hips losing all sense of proper rhythm as he let go of Clint's head in favor of his shoulder again. He braced his other hand flat against the wall to keep from tumbling to the floor. He came hard but did his best to keep mostly quiet. Bringing in the whole damn club didn't sound like the right way to end things. Instead Phil found himself letting go with an intensity that left him fighting to breathe and moaning Clint's name.

Clint gagged a little, but still managed to drink the issue down. He kept sucking until he felt he'd drawn every last strain of pleasure from the other man, drawing away only when Phil's cries sounded almost pained. He pulled back, giving the man's cock a few light licks as if he couldn't get enough before he finally stood and pressed his lips to Phil's. "Fucking amazing," he breathed, still catching his breath.

"You really are," Phil answered, palming Clint's cock for a moment before fumbling with his zipper between them and shoving down his underwear until he could feel the other man hot and hard in his hand. He reversed their positions in a heartbeat, shoving Clint against the wall and then sliding to his knees. He'd taken a second to tuck himself back into his underwear first but not much else. It was more important to show Clint just how wanted he was. Suspecting that the other man didn't have the patience for a lot of screwing around, Phil went for it, sucking Clint down to the base in one go, his eyes locked on the other man's face.

"Jesus!" The exclamation left Clint in a harsh breath as he watched Phil hurriedly swallow his cock down. The archer locked his knees, pressing himself into the wall to keep his legs from buckling. His fingers scrabbled at the cool wall behind him as if trying to gain purchase on his sanity, and Clint panted helplessly, thumping his head back against the wall and moaning, a long, low sound that seemed to vibrate through his whole being. He hadn't expected the eagerness. He sure as hell hadn't expected to see his cock disappear down Coulson's throat in one swift, sure motion.

The surprise and shocked pleasure on Clint's face fed Coulson's ego appropriately. The man looked like he was coming apart at the seams, and it was gorgeous. Clint turned on was the most beautiful thing he'd seen in a long time. Already Coulson was filing the sound of his moans away to review at a later time. He set a quick pace, grabbing one of Clint's hands and moving it to his head to let the man know that he didn't mind some instruction.

Clint gladly took control, though it was to slow Phil down a little. He was already insanely close to cumming after having sucked the other man off and having seen Phil take him down like he was starving. Not wanting it to be over too soon - though realistically he knew it would be - he bit his lower lip and hoped Phil would accept the slower pace as his hand dropped back to his handler's shoulder. As it was, Clint was practically writhing with every move Phil made, his toes curling in his boots as he fought for control. "Not... Not gonna la... last long..." he managed.

Much as he would have liked to enjoy a longer session with Clint, Phil was satisfied just to make him feel so good. He felt sure that there would be other chances. Clint was as strung out and needy as he was. Still he kept to the slower pace that Clint had set, determined to draw every last second he could from the encounter. Clint gasping and writhing was definitely a sight he could get used to with no trouble at all. It was a thing of absolute beauty. He gripped Clint by the hips, fingers digging in just enough to remind them both of the reality of the moment.

Clint was pretty sure this was the hottest blowjob he'd ever gotten. The need between the two of them, Phil's eagerness... It was all too much, and he finally came with a cry that was just barely drowned out by the bar's ambient noise. He managed to hold himself up long enough for Phil to draw away slightly, then sagged bonelessly to the floor, his head resting against the wall as he gasped for air. "God, that was good," he managed.

"You're inspiring," Phil answered with a faint smile before he leaned in to steal another kiss. It was hard to believe what they'd just done. He sank back onto the floor next to Clint and finally bothered to actually zip his pants up and catch his breath. It was awkward in the aftermath, and Phil found himself hosting the unwelcome thought that Clint might have made an impulsive decision solely because he was drunk. "You're right, though - that was amazing."

Clint grinned broadly, feeling a little proud of himself. "I do aim to please," he said, tucking in and zipping his pants back up. He could sense Phil's awkwardness, and he looked over at the man, patting him on the shoulder. "Don't get uptight, boss," he said with an easy grin. "I'm not gonna get all clingy and weird on you. Or go to Fury and ask for a new handler. It was fun. Might even be fun again," he added with a wink. He couldn't quite dismiss the nagging sense that those weren't likely to be Phil's concerns, but pushed it away. He wasn't Phil's type. Sure, maybe he was spank bank material, but Clint doubted that Phil would want anything more. And Clint didn't. Couldn't.

Remembering that he'd distantly registered his phone going off earlier, Clint dug it out of his hip pocket as he pushed himself up off the floor. He did his best not to frown at the contents of the message. Nat was off with someone else tonight. The implications of the message sank in further, and Clint couldn't help his eyebrows raising a little in surprise. If the SUV was gone, that meant that Logan and Scott were likely with her. Clint wavered between being astonished at the idea of her talking those two into playing, not blaming her for taking the opportunity, and being a little annoyed because he was fairly sure she'd intentionally left him with Phil based on their discussion the night before. //Nat the matchmaker. Dammit.//

It didn't take much to figure out that Clint was upset. "Nat?" he guessed. There weren't many things or people that got under Clint's skin the way Natasha did. Coulson was still working hard not to look as hurt as he felt by the obvious brush-off, by Clint's easy dismissal of the whole thing. //Fun. Of course. That's it.// Even the vague hope that Clint might be game again wasn't really helping because it definitely wasn't what he'd envisioned. He'd wanted more. He'd thought… //And that's why you're not supposed to think about it. Stop.// "Is everything okay?" He reluctantly peeled himself up off the floor and attempted to look entirely steady on his feet, as if he hadn't just had the best blow job of his life from a guy who he would very much have liked to be going home with.

Clint sighed quietly and nodded. "Yeah. But we're gonna need a cab," he said, a smirk slowly replacing his look of irritation. He could have a discussion with Nat about trying to manipulate him into dating his handler later. Still somewhat buzzed and full of endorphins from the orgasm, irritation was more easily replaced with amusement at the idea of what the whole situation implied. "I think she went home with Logan and Summers. Like, went home, home," he said, a bit of admiration in his eyes. He wouldn't have figured Summers would have gone for it. At all. //Leave it to Tash.//

Coulson's eyebrows raised. "That... is unexpected." And yet somehow it made sense considering it was Natasha they were talking about. If anyone could manage the feat, it was her. As they made their way back into the main room, he couldn't resist venturing, "You don't... I mean, if you wanted to-" He cut himself off. Clint had made it very clear that he wasn't interested in going home with him. He'd wanted to go home with Natasha. "Nevermind. Let's grab a cab."

Clint paused, falling a little behind Coulson as the man moved towards the door. Back out in the open air and relative quiet, he tilted his head at his handler. He had a feeling of what the other man had been about to ask, and he couldn't help be feel surprised. //Is he...? Surely not.// Coulson was, what? Fifteen years older? The agent liked philharmonics and science fiction and wearing ties. Clint liked drinking beer and playing video games and shooting dangerous animals. The archer still wasn't sure why the hell Nat had pushed him toward his handler in the first place. //Still...// "If I wanted to what?" he pressed. Clint didn't play guessing games. It could get you killed in the field, and wasn't much more useful in real life.

Coulson steeled himself, ready for the rejection before he even heard it. He knew that he and Clint weren't alike. They were very different people, and even if there was an obvious mutual attraction and they did have a good time together, it was assuming a lot to think Clint might have even the vaguest interest in spending social time with him as more than friends. "If you wanted to come back to my room tonight, that would be nice," he managed, barely able to meet Clint's gaze as he put the offer forward. "Even if you just want a cup of coffee, I just... I'd enjoy that."

Clint straightened, looking less upset and more like he was honestly surprised by the offer. "A cup of coffee sounds good," he finally agreed as a cab pulled up to the curb. He piled in, leaving the door open for Coulson to follow. While it obviously wasn't unusual for him to spend a night on Phil's couch or even have a cup of coffee together, he hadn't expected the agent to immediately want more time with him. He'd halfway expected Coulson to avoid eye contact or discussing what they'd just done in any context for a week, after which he figured they'd get back to eye contact and that'd be it. Immediate and further interaction of any kind hadn't really crossed his mind. //Really must be drunk. This seems crazy.// He knew he was only buzzed at most. //Maybe... No. Don't be dumb.//

Had it been anyone else at his side, Coulson would have taken their hand and sat closer. Since it was Clint and the man looked skittish as it was, he kept his distance and tried to keep conversation light. It was a markedly difficult task when he wanted to grab Clint and kiss him senseless while the cab took them closer to the tower. When they arrived, Phil led the way to his suite and let them both in. He started some coffee and suggested, "You can put on some music if you like." He nodded toward a shelf that contained one of the Stark Industries-issued mp3 player/satellite radio outfits they'd all been given. "Unless you put on particularly whiny country music, there's not much I really hate."

Clint smiled, feeling a little more at ease with the more familiar situation. Coffee with his handler wasn't unusual. Being told 'anything but country' was also pretty normal. He flipped through the options on the player until he found an artist he knew, stopping at Florence + the Machine and then kicking himself a little at the overly romantic choice. //It's just good music. Don't get all weird.// He pulled up a stool at the bar and watched Coulson go about prepping the coffee. He started to try for smalltalk, then realized there was nothing that he could bring up immediately that didn't seem awkward. "So... you think Stark's any closer to figuring out how to off Loki?" he finally ventured. Bringing up work wasn't the best option necessarily, but discussing his amusement at Nat's antics or anything else that had happened since they left the firing range seemed like an even worse idea.

Coulson was momentarily thrown by the rather formal tone of the question, but he recovered as quickly as possible and tried to cover by getting mugs out for the coffee. He wondered when Clint had gotten a 'usual mug' at his place. "Probably. I'm sure they're working hard on it. I trust them." It was all more awkward than it should have been. It was all harder than it should have been. When it came to personal relationships, Coulson was a terrible liar, and he knew it. He suspected it was the demands of his day to day work that made it feel particularly slimy when it came to close quarters. "Look, if what happened tonight... if you'd rather we pretend it never happened, I can do that. You mean a lot to me, and if this is just too... I know how you feel about Natasha, and I've seen the guys you usually pick up... it's... I'm not going to let it get in the way of anything. If that's what you want." It wasn't pretty or clean or particularly coherent, but he felt better having said anything at all.

Clint was just wondering the same thing about the mug when Phil called him out. He reflexively opened his mouth to agree to pretending it hadn't happened if that's what Phil wanted, then shut it again when he realized that that might not be what Phil wanted. He'd honestly expected it to be something along those lines. The archer fiddled nervously with his still-empty mug, rolling the bright yellow ceramic around on the counter as he tried to figure out what he wanted. "I love Nat," he said quietly to the countertop, then looked up. "But... she's never gonna love me." He smiled ruefully as he played with the mug some more, chewing on his lips. "The guys are filler. Distractions." He set the mug on the counter upside-down. "Nat was trying to set us up." He was thinking the whole thing through out loud, trying to sort out all the facts. Finally, he looked up at Phil, still smiling faintly, though he mostly just looked lost. "I guess... maybe you should tell me what you want, 'cause I'm not sure of what I want," he finally admitted.

In that moment, Phil found himself vacillating wildly between appreciating Clint's honesty and hating that it was an established fact that Clint loved someone else. It was one thing thinking it and another thing hearing it, apparently. He took the cup and poured them each some coffee to cover for the fact that he was buying time to think. He could feel the shred of hope that he'd been clinging to slipping away and finally had to let it go. "I think that maybe... that maybe as long as you're in love with someone and the guys you're with are there to kill time, it doesn't matter all that much what I want." It wasn't a cop out so much as a last ditch attempt to protect himself. He'd given away too much as it was, and Coulson couldn't bring himself to give away how much he cared when he knew it couldn't change anything. "That doesn't mean you can't still be here for coffee or to crash on the couch or that we can't feed the ducks, but I think that until something bigger changes, that's all I have to give."

Clint swallowed hard, surprised at how much hearing that had hurt. Then, another realization caught up with him. "So, wait..." His voice shook, broke a little, and he took a deep breath. "Wait, you... oh." Phil had feelings for him. And not just the kind that happened below the belt. "Coulson... Phil." He waited until the other man looked at him and wished absently that he still had the empty mug to play with since his hands were fidgeting stupidly, and he didn’t want to spill the coffee. "Phil, I had no idea." He worried his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment, looking down at his coffee, taking a sip. As he set the cup back down, he realized he was shaking. He was scared. Not because the idea of dating Coulson sounded scary, but because he knew that he was sitting at a crossroads. One way, he maybe stayed friends with Phil, he kept occasionally fooling around with Nat and anyone else he could find, and hated himself for loving her. Or he tried something different. Something that might completely and totally destroy one of the few friendships he had. Clint scratched at the back of his neck. He could still feel Phil's gaze resting on him. He finally looked up at the other man, blue eyes almost pleading. "Phil... what if I said I needed to change things, that I don't want to love someone who can't love me, but I don't know how to do things any different?"

Coulson was moderately certain he'd stopped breathing while Clint spoke. He knew it took several beats for the blood rushing in his ears to clear. He didn't know the right thing to say, and that wasn't normal anymore. He'd left most of that uncertainty behind in his youth, and as a grown man, Phil Coulson had found a certain measure of confidence. That did nothing to help him scrape together the right words for Clint, who looked painfully lost and uncertain.

"I'm going to be the jerk who answers a question with a question for a second. Great sex is always a good start, but if you put that aside," and that was hard to do when he could still taste Clint on his tongue, "then can you really see me as someone you'd want to be with? I'm older. I'm admittedly less exciting than Natasha on a lot of levels. Even if you want to move on, is there any chance I'd be the one to do it with?"

Lacking anything for his fingers to fool with and his feet too high up off the floor to bounce a knee, Clint found himself fiddling with his own fingers as he tried to come up with a semi-decent answer. He finally shrugged and looked away, looking as agitated as he ever got. "I don't know. I like being around you, Phil." He quirked a faint smile and finally managed to look at his handler. "I mean, maybe you're not as exciting as Tash, but... we get a lot of excitement at work." He looked down at the counter, nudging his coffee cup with one finger, "...and sometimes I just wanna feed the ducks."

"Okay, then let's try a little experiment." Phil tried to sound calm with his heart pounding and his palms sweating. He set his mug aside and then slid Clint's to the side on the counter as well. Leaning across it, he held his hands out toward Clint. "Give me your hands. I'm not going to break them." He waited until Clint closed the distance before gently clasping the man's hands. The contact was electric for him. The question was whether it felt that way to Clint. After a second to just enjoy the touch, Phil turned the archer's hands over and stroked his thumbs across the palms. He explored, examined, felt every line and callous on the surface in a way he’d never expected to be allowed, and finally lifted one of Clint's hands to his lips and kissed it softly. Only then did he finally let himself meet Clint's gaze to see his reaction.

Nervous at first, Clint's muscles uncoiled as Phil slowly examined his hands. The contact was simple, soft and gentle and strangely perfect. The archer realized he'd stopped breathing and reminded himself to inhale as gentle fingers traced over hard earned calluses and scars, and Clint found himself surprised by how good it felt. It was intense and intimate on a level Clint hadn't realized existed. Looking up at Phil, his cheeks flushed faintly pink. He felt more exposed and vulnerable in that moment than he ever had in the field or with his clothes off. "Cou - Phil... feels good," he murmured, smiling hesitantly. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt nervous fluttering in his stomach when someone touched him. Probably when he was a teenager.

"Okay, then." Still holding Clint's hands, Phil let himself feel a modicum of relief. He knew it wasn't everything. He knew it was miles and miles away from everything. He also knew it was the most he could hope for. "I like touching you. I like spending time with you. I'd even like to go camping with you and see what it's like chasing down a few defenseless animals for sport. I'm actually pretty amazing at Call of Duty even if you could probably take me playing Resident Evil. So... I'd really, really like to try this." He let go of one of Clint's hands to reach out and stroke careful fingers against his cheek. "I want this, but you have to be ready to be all in. I don't mean I expect any kind of commitment, but I don't share. That's a big change, it's a big promise, and you shouldn't make it if you aren't sure you're ready for it."

Clint closed his eyes as Phil's hand cupped his cheek. It felt good in a way that was almost surprising in its intensity. Touch meant a lot to Clint. While it usually meant either seriously hurting someone or just fucking them for the sake of release, true, tender contact was a rare gift, and Phil's hands were gentle and caring in ways that words couldn't express. "I can definitely do the not sharing thing," he said. It wasn't a hard decision to make. If Nat had been around more, had been willing to commit to him, the other partners wouldn't have been in the picture. Blue eyes flicked open and he smiled faintly, resting his hand on the back of Phil's and pressing a kiss to the palm. "Not as big a deal as you might think." He knew Phil had probably seen a parade of guys - and Nat - wander through his suite when he'd been required to keep an eye on him. He knew it'd probably be tough for Phil to believe it was that easy.

The facts suggested one thing, but Phil had put his life in Clint’s hands enough hands to be willing to take him at his word. "Okay," Phil answered. He felt something tight uncoil inside and actually found himself smiling back. The look of quiet happiness on Clint's face was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen in his life. "In that case, I definitely want you to stay tonight if you want to. We don't have to do anything." He huffed out a laugh and admitted, "I've actually kind of started looking forward to the days when you come and crash on the couch. Waking up and having you here just shuffling around the apartment... I miss it when you're not here. A lot."

Clint couldn't help blushing faintly yet again. "I... might've been making excuses to crash on your couch a time or two." He slid his hand over the cool countertop to touch Phil's fingers. "I hadn't really thought about... us, but... kind of seems a little obvious now. I feel better when you're around." It sounded lame out loud, but Clint didn’t take it back. He figured that of someone wanted poetry, they'd be barking up the wrong tree with him, anyway. He got his point across. That was the important part.

"For the record, you never have to make an excuse." More quietly, Coulson added, "You also don't have to sleep on the couch anymore unless you're really that attached to it. I'd kind of rather have you in the bedroom." He caught the double entendre a second too late but didn't backpedal. The truth was he really did mean it in both ways. Crossing around the bar, Coulson grabbed Clint's stool and turned it so that he could step up and stand directly in front of the man. He leaned in and kissed Clint gently. It was nothing like the breathless embraces they'd exchanged earlier. It was soft, sweet, filled with emotion instead of need.

Clint hesitated for a moment, his hands awkwardly in the air, halfway between gripping the barstool and resting on Phil's waist. The gentility of the kiss, the quiet, reassuring contact was so unfamiliar, so quieting, that Clint barely knew how to react. Finally, slowly, his hands landed on their intended target, lightly tangling in his handler's shirt as Clint responded nervously, trying to show Phil the same tenderness. It wasn't something he was used to having or, more, to having receiprocated. After a few moments, he drew away, still feeling jittery from nervous adrenaline. He smiled nonetheless as he drew away, then laughed nervously, feeling his cheeks burn with a blush. "Sorry. I... sorry. Kinda... new territory," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck as his eyes trailed back up to Phil's. "I'd go for the bedroom, though. Even the bed, if you think I can behave," he added with a faint grin.

"Don't be sorry. Do finish your coffee. C'mon, let's go sit in the living room." Coulson grabbed his cup and flashed Clint a smile. It was good knowing that they could make things work, at least potentially. Potential was all he could ask from the situation. It was cute to see how easily Clint was flustered by the gentler side of things. Earlier in the club he'd been all predatory grace. With something more serious, more intimate, he blushed and stammered like a teenager. It was actually pretty sexy. "You don't have to worry about any of this being new. It's not new to me, but it's... it's a long time ago and pretty far away."

Clint followed, but only after he took a few seconds to make sure his legs weren't as wobbly as he felt. He settled on the couch next to Phil, coffee in hand, not quite up against the other man but still within arm's reach. "Star Wars. Got that one," he said with a faint grin. Clint knew Phil was kind of a nerd, but then the archer couldn't completely deny some nerdiness after all the video games he'd played, either. He sobered a little, sipping his coffee. He still felt uncertain, like there was something he should do, but he wasn't sure what.

A real relationship was something Clint wasn't sure he'd ever had in any traditional sense. He thought he'd come close with Nat until she'd more or less ignored his offering of flowers. That was when he'd given up trying to keep worry about staying exclusively hers. Shaking himself out of that thought track, he focused on the man beside him. Phil looked honestly happy, and Clint couldn't help but smile in response. "You know... I know it wasn't technically a date, but yesterday afternoon was nice. It made me feel a little better, with everything going on," he said finally.

"It made me feel a lot better too," Phil agreed. "I actually don't know if I would've gotten through it so smoothly without you. Taking a few minutes to feel just... just human again. Sometimes I guess I get a little swallowed up by the suit." He knew that sometimes he let the persona take over, lost Phil a little beneath the veneer of Agent Coulson. "So if I can help you slow down every now and then, maybe you can help me unwind a little more often. It's easy to forget I'm not actually married to my desk even though she and I have been in an exclusive relationship for quite a few years."

"I hope she's not the jealous type. I think she has a few pounds on me," Clint said, relaxing a little. Humor was easy enough. He edged a little closer to Phil, looking him over. "I think I'll definitely be pestering you to unwind more often. The glasses kinda look good on you. Not that the suit isn't hot as hell, but you in jeans and a t-shirt's pretty damned endearing, too. And you look less like you do when you're yelling at me," he added with a mischievous grin as he took another sip of coffee.

"Speaking of which, I'd like to keep things professional at the office. Stark can get away with playing fast and loose with HR guidelines, but I do have a reputation. It may not be flashy, but it's mine." Phil couldn't help but smile as he reached out to run his fingers over Clint's arm. The casual contact was thrilling. That he could have it almost whenever he wanted was even more thrilling. "Besides that, I've never had to send someone off to possibly get killed when I had feelings for them or at least… well, you know what I mean." His throat tightened at the thought. "If you kiss me before you walk out the door, I might not let you walk out the door."

Clint had opened his mouth to protest, but that faint roughness in Phil's voice as he said that last bit made him shut his mouth. He hadn't thought of that. He wondered if Nat had. "I get it," he said quietly, his arm still tingling a little where the other man had touched him. He remembered how it had been, sitting around while Nat suffered at Loki's hands. Clint couldn't imagine having been the one who'd given her the order to go there in the first place. He let his leg drift to the side, bumping his knee against Phil's. He smirked faintly. "Though it's gonna be pretty tough to not lock us in your office and break all of HR's stupid rules, right there on your desk." He was pretty sure that Fury and a few others were going to be out for blood if they even got wind of what they'd done in the club an hour ago. He couldn't imagine how they'd all deal with the knowledge that it wasn't a one-time thing. Then again, Phil was probably valuable enough to get out with just an ass-chewing. And Clint... well, it was par for the course for him to break rules he didn't like.

The idea was enough to make Phil's heart skip a beat, and he couldn't resist reaching for Clint's free hand. "What happens in my locked office on our lunch breaks is no one's business but ours," he assured firmly. "I'm not planning on hiding this from anyone, either. I'm going to file the paperwork, Fury will know. I just have to keep some boundaries in place. That's more about me than the rules. I know my limits, and I know that I'm already prone to being a little more forgiving than I should be with you and Natasha as it is." It had never been easy to stay mad at Clint long. All it took was a few days of the man slinking around giving him hurt puppy looks and bringing him coffee quietly in the mornings and Phil tended to forget why he'd been angry to start with. Hoping to take some of the sting out of the idea of keeping things handler and asset during the long days in the office, Phil allowed, "I'll even get a better lock for the door. Promise."

"I like that plan," Clint decided, his fingers idly tracing Phil's as he finished off his coffee and put the cup down on the coffee table. He was relieved that their relationship didn't have to be a secret. He was fairly sure that the RUMINT would be circulating fairly quickly anyway, and the headache of trying to keep it all under wraps would have been too much. //Though...// "You know some people are gonna think it's just me... uh... being me, if you know what I mean." People had speculated that Phil didn't even have relationships, that even the cellist had been bunk. On the other hand, most of SHIELD knew that Clint went through people like tissues. "It's not, I mean, but... I'd get it if you didn't want folks to know right away."

"I don't want to hide this," Phil repeated patiently. "Neither one of us has a stable public relationship track record even if it's for completely different reasons. I'm not too worried about what other people say, I'm worried about us." Maintaining his reputation was one thing. Making Clint feel marginalized for the sake of it was something else, something Phil wasn't willing to consider. "We'll take the hits. Probably a lot of them. Probably some inappropriate comments that we'll both have to deal with in our own special ways. Just don't permanently injure any fellow agents, and I'll try not to fire anyone. I think we can handle that."

Clint smirked. "No *permanent* injuries... Means a few broken bones would be okay, right?" he asked with a broad grin. "'Cause those heal. Seriously, though. I can deal with the rumors and the assumptions. If you can." He still meant it, but he was relieved that Phil didn't want to keep their relationship under wraps. He liked the idea that he wouldn't have to watch every word he said or make up cover stories for their dates.

"Good." Phil looked very obviously pleased to have the matter settled enough for the two of them. "No problems there." It was surprisingly easy negotiating the first few issues that might crop up. Clint was willing to be monogamous, neither of them had a problem going public, and Clint wasn't leaving for the night. "I figured I'd have a good time tonight. I feel like a third wheel sometimes, but it's still always fun going out with the team. I just didn't think... this isn't something I really ever thought was a possibility."

Clint propped his elbow on the back of the couch and his face on his hand as he smiled a little sheepishly. "I... never thought about it at all, really. I mean, we've always been close, but..." He blushed a little. "You... we... mostly have Nat to thank, I guess. Or hate, if I turn out to be a terrible ass," he amended with a grin. "She pushed me toward you. A little because..." He stopped. It seemed like something he shouldn't say, but it was the elephant in the room, and ignoring it wasn't going to help. "I think she feels bad that I'm so hooked on her, and..." He sagged back against the couch, looking suddenly nervous as he pulled his arms in close to himself, his hands on his thighs. "Well, I guess she felt guilty, wanted to make it up. Don't get me wrong; I'm glad she did. Just... sorry. I shouldn't... I shouldn't talk about it. Sorry."

"Talk about whatever you need to talk about. We’ve been pretty honest with each other, and I don’t want that to change." Phil reached out, his fingers curling around Clint's again to draw one of his hands away from his body. He wasn't going to go so far as to say the words didn't sting, but he understood them. Gently, he ran his fingers over Clint's hand, much the way he had earlier. "First off, do you really think Natasha Romanov is capable of feeling guilty? Secondly... secondly, are you here right now because Natasha wants you to be here or because you want to be here?"

Clint started to reflexively deny that he didn't worry about what Nat wanted, then remembered that Phil had spent an inordinate amount of time as a fly on the wall in the inner reaches of his personal life. He thought about it for a second, then smiled faintly. "There may have been, uh... certain situations where I do everything she says, but not when it comes to who I spend time with," he said. He chuckled a little, mischief flickering across his face. "I guess she probably doesn't have that emotion. And if I didn't want to be here, I'd have left," he said, pulling Phil's hand to his lips and then lightly nibbling at the knuckles.

It was Phil's turn to look almost bashful, going slightly pink at the ears and smiling. "Okay. Good. Then I don't think there's anything that you should be scared to talk about." He was satisfied to hear that Clint was staying of his own volition and not out of some misplaced sense of doing right by Natasha. "That said, I think we probably do owe her a drink or something." Phil couldn't believe she'd seen the potential when it had been so off the map for him. "I'm really, really grateful for the chance." He knew it wouldn't be the same as whatever life Clint had hoped he'd find someday with Natasha, but he hoped that it could still be something satisfying for both of them given the opportunity.

"I think we might owe her a whole bottle of the finest vodka I can steal from Tony's bar," Clint decided, smiling at the pink tinge still lingering in Phil's ears. If he hadn't known the other man, he would have missed those little cues, and he suddenly felt lucky to have a chance with someone he knew so well. "He still hasn't noticed his missing rum, so..." He smirked, leaning in closer to Phil, fingers lightly running over the top of one of his handler's thighs. It was strange spending time quietly talking with someone. It occurred to Clint that he hadn't even just sat on a couch and made out with someone in years. He took the coffee cup from Phil's hands and put it on the end table behind him. Still smiling coyly, he lightly brushed his lips to Phil's, then drew back enough to look into the man's eyes. "I think I'd like to just touch you... if that's alright." It seemed silly considering what they'd done in the club earlier, but the quiet, unhurried moment seemed to call for more than simply pouncing on the other man.

"I think I'd like that. A lot. Actually, I'll go so far as to say that unless we're on duty, you have blanket permission for touching." The way Clint was looking at him, the unexpected sweetness of his smile, made Phil feel certain for a moment that he was in some kind of dream. And he didn't really mind. It was a very, very good dream. Despite not wanting to push or initiate anything beyond the exploration, Phil still couldn't resist stealing another gentle kiss. For two men who'd been around the block in a dozen different ways over as many years, it was strange to realize how much they hadn't done and for how long. They'd both been missing things. "Touch away."

"Don't forget lunch. Pretty sure I got permission to touch at lunch, too," the archer reminded his handler, reaching up to lightly trace Phil's jaw with his thumb. He leaned in to gently brush their lips together, then let his hand slide down Phil's neck, over his chest. Callused fingers pushed between the buttons of Phil's shirt, and he casually popped one open to get his hand directly on skin. "This is nice," Clint murmured, watching Phil's face. 

 

It was better than nice. Phil knew his smile had gone from pleased to slightly goofy, but Clint didn't seem to mind. "This is really, really nice," he agreed dreamily, content to let Clint do or not do pretty much whatever he wanted. The man looked oddly stunning while relaxed and taking his time. Though certainly Clint was capable of great restraint on a mission, Phil wasn't used to seeing him not just restrained but actually relaxed. For once he'd actually slowed down. "I get the feeling you hear it often enough, but you're gorgeous."

Clint had the grace to blush a little, his eyes flicking down for a moment before looking back up at Phil. "I actually don't hear it as often as you'd think," he said, nudging a few more buttons open on Phil's shirt and letting his hand drift down over his abs, blunt nails raking lightly over skin. He leaned in, pressing his lips to Phil's jawline, kissing a slow trail down to his chin, his lips. "Haven't been in the habit of doing a lot of talking with... other people," he said quietly, the faintest quaver in his voice. He covered for it by pressing a few more soft kisses to Phil's lips as his hand slid down the man's side. It was actually hard for him to hold back, to just touch and explore, but it felt good. //Maybe there is something to this whole slowing down thing…//

They had some things to work through. Clint did especially with years of being madly in love with someone who simply couldn't feel the same way. Phil understood. "Well, that's a bad habit, then. We'll have to change that. You should be hearing it at least daily." Though he wasn't by any means angry with Natasha for the way things had gone - Phil understood well enough that she had her own issues, plenty of them - he couldn't help but feel awful that for so many years, Clint had gone without the attention he really deserved. He'd been taking what he could get. He shouldn't have to wait for what was left over. Phil kept the introspection to himself and simply stroked his fingers through Clint's hair and over his back, soothing and maintaining gentle contact at all times. "I'll make a note on my calendar."

Clint smiled against Phil's skin, laughing softly. "Careful. I don't think my ego needs to be fed more," he said, nuzzling Phil's neck and kissing his way as far down as he could with the shirt still partially buttoned. He thought about unbuttoning the last few hanging on, but then reconsidered. He wanted things to stay slow, wanted to savor every moment. He couldn't resist running a teasing fingertip around the waistband of Phil's pants.

It was a tease, but they both knew it, and that was just fine. A little teasing could be very nice when well applied. "I should probably note that the expansive permissions in regard to touching also extend to undressing. Again, with the provision that it not be done at the office unless there's a locked door between us and the world." He'd never been more thankful for having a private office. Never. With the shirt partially undone, the scar across his chest was clearly visible, and he caught Clint’s gaze lingering on it. "I guess there are worse ways to pick up new scars than being skewered by a deity from another world."

"I'd have to say that is one of the least lame stories there are to explain it," Clint agreed, his hand tugging the rest of the buttons loose after gaining open permission. He slid his thumb along Phil's collarbone before finally gently tracing the scar with his fingers. "Matter of fact, I hear it's right up there with shark bite scars for getting you laid."

"Yeah? Hmm... I may have to look into that. There is this one guy I was kind of hoping to impress. I wonder if he digs scars," Coulson mused with a smile. He didn't really mind the scar, didn't really mind any of his scars. He just didn't care for the questions that the one on his chest reminded him of. There were too many dark corners in SHIELD, but Phil was used to knowing them all. He didn't like being kept in the dark himself. "I look forward to learning all of his too. Just let me know if you want any stories about the one on my calf where I fell out of a tree as a kid or anything. It's exciting stuff."

Clint laughed, more heartily this time. "Yeah? I've got one from getting my leg tangled in the trapeze as a kid," he said with a smirk. "But I think that guy of yours digs scars, but not as much as the whole package, I'm betting," he said, gracefully sliding a leg across Phil's legs and settling across the man's lap. He looked down at his handler, still smirking with just a hint of cockiness. "Maybe we can compare, count them up and see who has more," he decided, slowly tugging his shirt up over his head and tossing it aside.

Phil had seen Clint naked before, but since he made it a point not to ogle other guys at the gym when he could help it, and they'd hardly taken anything off at the club... He found himself staring openly at the man straddling his lap and enjoying every second of it. Clint was sinfully gorgeous, all long, lean lines and sinewy muscle. Phil honestly couldn't decide what to touch first, so he settled for taking a leisurely tour over the whole of Clint's chest with his fingertips. The touches were light and exploratory, finally settling on a paler line of flesh at the bottom of Clint's ribs. "Where'd you get this one?"

Clint relished the way Phil looked at him, touched him like he was a piece of art. His eyes flicked open at the question and he looked down at the scar Phil was referring to. "Undercover in Iraq," he said with a faint smile. "Some of those infantrymen are a little... rough around the edges. Got shanked with a multitool for... well, I have a big mouth sometimes." The potential underlying meaning of that statement caught up a moment later, and Clint's smirk turned into a wicked grin. "In more than one way."

Phil groaned at the joke but had to allow, "I've noticed, actually." He'd more than noticed, but in light of the evening, he supposed Clint knew that already. It had been difficult watching Clint and keeping things professional. It was actually a little hard having Clint straddling his lap and keeping things from getting out of hand. "You should watch out for that. Next time the scar could be bigger. Look what happened to me when I decided to get cute." He smiled ruefully and continued his explorations until his fingers landed on a smaller scar at the top of Clint's shoulder. He'd seen it before a million times. "I remember that one. South America. The extraction team was late... natives got restless. I hated being on the wire for that. Then I saw it, and you were barely even bleeding, and you were grinning because you took out three of them by yourself. Then I wanted to kill you myself."

Clint's smile broadened at the memory. "I remember that now," he said. It had been a minor op that had gotten way more out of hand than it should have due to the delayed extraction. Phil had been so unbelievably angry, Clint had found himself sneaking offerings of food and coffee to the man and avoiding direct interaction for a week before it had all cooled down. The archer's eyes softened, and he tilted his head a little as he traced a finger along Phil's jaw. "You weren't angry, were you? You were scared," he realized.

 

It was on the tip of his tongue to deny it, a knee jerk reflex that he fought back with an effort. "Yeah, I was terrified, actually. You were hurt, back up wasn't where it should have been... things could have ended a lot differently." What had ended up a mild scar and a decent story for Clint could just as easily have been his last mission. It had come close enough to be terrifying, close enough to worry Coulson in a way he'd realized after the fact wasn't entirely appropriate. "As it turns out, I'm actually incapable of not worrying about you." He reached out to cup Clint's cheek. "You're too important to me."

Clint leaned in to Phil's touch, eyes closing for a moment. It was a little frightening, knowing he meant so much to Phil. The idea that he might one day slip up and get killed on a mission didn't scare him; the idea of hurting someone he cared for so badly was utterly terrifying. His gaze flicked up. "That was a year ago," he murmured, his hand reaching up to cover the back of Phil's as he turned his head to press a kiss to the palm. He smiled gently, "How long have you worried about me like this?" He wasn't sure what to think. It was intimidating to know someone cared so deeply for him. He hadn't had a family to speak of growing up, and knowing that someone cared about him above and beyond simple friendship or as a teammate was completely foreign to him.

Coulson thought that through carefully. The truth was it had been a long time. A very long time. He wasn't sure when he'd realized that he felt something more than the usual tight, sick nervousness in his chest when Clint was in danger. It took Coulson awhile to see that line silence when Clint was in the field hurt him more deeply than it should have. "A long time," he confessed. "I'm not sure when it started. Somewhere along the way... You were a real pain in the ass at first, but somewhere in there, I started looking forward to working with you more than working with anyone."

Clint's smile was faint but genuine. He leaned in to brush his lips to Phil's. "Guess we both let this sneak up on us," he said, shifting a little on his handler's lap to lean on to press his lips to Phil's collarbone, his hands resting lightly on the man's shoulders. "Or at least I did. But I guess not every ambush ends badly."

"We're the exception to the rule," Coulson agreed with a warm smile. He loved the act of just settling in and enjoying their time together. It was a gentler side of Clint than the one he knew, and it was fantastic to see it. Compelling as Clint's usual brash manner was - it had, after all, been what caught his eye to start with - it was also nice to know they could share slow, lazy nights at home too. "I think we already knew that after the club. I'm fairly certain that was at least part ambush."

"Maybe a little," Clint agreed, his hands sliding from Phil's shoulders and down to hook his fingers into the man's belt loops to get leverage for a far more suggestive shift of his hips. Thinking back to the encounter in the club made it difficult to resist doing otherwise. "I thought at first I was just gonna get you all flustered again," he breathed.

Phil didn't bother trying to hide the way his breath hitched at the roll of Clint's hips. His lips parted, and his eyes locked with Clint's. "If it helps, I was definitely flustered, then turned on, then impatient. I really didn't expect any of it. Not to put down my romantic prowess, but I'm not your usual."

"No, you're not," Clint agreed, forcing himself to slide away from Phil's lap. He was already half hard, his voice rough from arousal, and his goal had been to take things a little slower. He was pretty sure that if he stayed in Phil's lap, he was going to miss that goal. They'd started out with no brakes, and now Clint wanted to make sure that this wasn't like all his other flings. "But I think that's why it's a good thing. That we're a good thing. I don't think I need my usual. I think I need anything but," he said, his hands still roaming over the other man's chest.

"I think so too," Coulson agreed, the momentary shot of fear he'd felt at Clint drawing away ebbing as the contact continued. He reached for Clint's other hand and threaded their fingers together just to feel the palm flat against his own. "I think sometimes we all need a chance to shed our skin. If I can be yours... that would be an honor." Gently, he suggested, "You ready to go to bed? Don't worry, just talking sleep. I think we can probably keep our hands to ourselves. Mostly."

Clint nodded. Feeling oddly nervous, he followed Coulson into the man's bedroom. It wasn't hard to figure out which side of the bed would be his. One side of the mattress was obviously well worn down, the other almost forlornly pristine. Settling on his side, Clint tugged off his boots and then hesitated a moment before tugging his jeans away, as well. He felt unusually self-conscious about still having half a boner as he settled under the blankets, wondering to himself if he'd have the self-discipline to keep his hands to himself. It occurred to him it had been nearly forever since he'd spent a night with anyone but Natasha in his bed, but the idea of waking up next to Phil sounded pretty damned nice. "You don't snore, right?" he asked with a grin.

"I actually can't make any promises. It's been awhile since anyone was here to find out," Phil answered honestly, "but I give you permission to wake me or roll me over if I'm keeping you awake." Phil, who had followed the man's example and stripped down to his boxers, slipped into his side of the bed and urged Clint, "Roll over. You looked like you were about to face a firing squad a minute ago just because you're turned on. Believe me when I say that is never offensive so long as I can claim part of the credit for why. Now lie down and just let me hold you for awhile."

Realizing he was being a little ridiculous, Clint smiled more easily - and maybe a little sheepishly - and did as he was told, pressing himself close to Phil and sighing quietly. His handler felt warm and reassuring against him, and Clint found himself surprised at how comforting his presence was. Not to mention, Phil smelled fucking amazing. Clint had been too focused on other things earlier, and it just then occurred to him that the man's aftershave or soap or whatever the hell it was smelled absolutely fantastic. Clint's arm slid around Phil's waist, and he burrowed his face into the man's chest. "This feels good," he said quietly.

"This feels perfect," Phil agreed, surprised at how much having Clint lying against him centered his whole being. It wasn't something he'd let himself hope for, but he realized in that moment how many sleepless nights could have been saved with the simple reassurance. Clint's presence reminded him that the man was safe and sound, was warm and alive against him. He let his eyes fall closed and felt sleep slowly beginning to call. "Could definitely get used to this," he murmured, already drifting as he wrapped an arm around Clint's muscular back.

"Mmhmm," Clint murmured, barely awake himself. He was out a moment later.


	9. Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Phil & Clint have a proper date, and it's exactly as adorable as it sounds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's making out but no smut. This is fluff. Things are going to get rough for them, and they damn well deserved some sweet, tooth-rotting fluff. I am nothing if not determined to give Clint and Phil what they want.

Clint woke the next day, momentarily confused as to where he was. It lasted only a few seconds, though, and he smiled a little as he realized the waist his arm was draped around was Phil's. With a smile, he pressed himself closer, feeling a tad mischievous as he let morning wood press against the other man's ass. Phil hadn't seemed to have any issues with him being turned on the night before, and he was feeling a touch more confident that morning.

It was an odd thing waking up to the feeling of someone's cock pressing into him, but it was really, really fucking nice. Phil made a soft sound of approval and made a point of grinding himself back into Clint's body. He wasn't necessarily trying to start something, just enjoying the luxury. "Definitely a good morning," he managed before turning to get a look at Clint, hair mussed with a lazy smile on his lips. God that was good. "So do I really get to keep you?"

Clint couldn't help but laugh a little, mostly because it almost felt absurd in his mind that someone would want to keep him around in any of the senses that Phil meant. "I suppose, but you're going to have to feed me, water me, and walk me twice a day," he returned easily, his usually gruff voice even rougher from sleep. His hand slid down Phil's chest, resting on his stomach as he leaned up to brush their lips together, careful to stop breathing long enough to avoid giving Phil a dose of his morning breath. "I am a pretty big responsibility, though. I've even been told I'm a pain in the ass."

"I actually highlighted that in your file," Phil answered, reluctantly rolling away and getting out of bed. "I have a spare toothbrush." There was only so long that they could carefully avoid the issue, and he preferred to get the mundane things out of the way as quickly as possible. Phil went through his morning routine quickly and left the spare toothbrush in its plastic on the edge of the sink. "All yours. Also? That note in your file? I may have made that note in your file. Sorry."

Clint grinned broadly as he sat up on the bed, though he felt a little disappointed that Phil was already moving to get ready. "I'm not sure that that's protocol, but at least it's accurate," he admitted, quickly brushing his teeth and washing his face. He knocked back his stubble a bit, then stepped out of the bathroom, tossing the hand towel he'd used to dry his face on the counter. He settled back on the edge of the bed and rubbed at his face. "We don't have to do anything today, right? Like, the geniuses are upstairs geniusing and I don't have anyone to kill, so..."

"That's why I'm in sleep pants, not my suit," Phil agreed. He'd make an appearance in the office at some point, but he wasn't in a hurry. In the meantime, he was categorically opposed to the idea of being overdressed in his own home. "Want breakfast?" Cooking for Clint wasn't all that unusual, but cooking for him after they spent the night curled up in each other's arms was a whole other thing. "I could make omelettes, maybe some bacon?"

The archer smiled. Phil cooking for him had always been a comfort, he realized. Retrospectively, he was starting to realize that virtually every time he'd felt over stressed or insecure, he'd found an excuse to sleep on his handler's couch and at least have coffee in the morning with the other man. "I'd have to say yes to all of that," Clint decided, standing and finding his jeans. While he wasn't ready to put on anything else, he wasn't all about his thighs sticking to random pieces of furniture, either. "Especially bacon. And coffee." He eyed Phil's sleep pants a moment later, smirking and blushing all at once. "So, uh, you weren't kidding about the ones with little arrows all over them."

"Nope. I don't kid. In case you haven't noticed, I don't have a sense of humor," Phil answered as he started a pot of coffee. "I had it removed when I joined SHIELD. At least that's what the newbies say." Of course he also made a point of making sure they all believed it with every fiber of their being. "What do you want in your omelette?" There was something to be said for being feared by most of SHIELD. It made life easier. It was also the main reason he wasn't planning on trailing through the halls holding hands with Clint and making googly eyes at him - no matter how much he wanted to.

"Cheese. And ham. And bacon. And then bacon on the side," Clint decided. "I'd also be willing to see some onions and bell peppers in it, but really if you're cooking me food, I'll eat about anything." Clint loved good food with every fiber of his being, but he was also completely uninterested in cooking for himself and typically found himself in the field or too busy to get food out, so his typical fare was frozen food, yogurt, and supplement bars. So if someone was willing to cook him real food, he was willing to eat whatever was served to him. The archer followed Phil into the kitchen, moving to get the coffee started. "And I do seem to recall your complete and utter lack of humor now." It had taken Clint pranking Ward in the middle of an op to get Phil to laugh. And even then, his handler had dragged him into a side office on the pretense of yelling at him before simply laughing his ass off instead. Clint had been Phil's asset at that point for a solid six months - longer than anyone else had kept him - and he'd been stunned to find out he wasn't getting handed off to someone else. "But I guess you'd need to be utterly humorless to be my handler."

 

"It saves my sanity," Phil answered. He caught sight of the look on Clint's face, contemplative, and it wasn't too difficult to follow the progression of his thoughts. "The only time I ever thought of transferring you was about a week in. Tense op, and you didn't listen to a damn thing I said. Then the really annoying part was that you did everything perfectly. Everyone got home without a scratch, and it was perfect." He threw some bacon in a pan and then started chopping things up to throw into the eggs. "So I hung in there. Fury wanted me to give you up after you brought Natasha in. He was furious. I had seen the intel, I heard the chatter... you did the right thing. That was the only time he ever asked. I was angry enough to get a raise out of it."

Clint looked up sharply. He'd been a mercenary set heavily against SHIELD when he'd been selected as an asset. If he'd been labeled a liability, SHIELD would have put him in a holding facility until they could decide what to do with him, which likely wouldn't have been anything pleasant. If Phil hadn't fought for him... "I had no idea," he said. He'd known it was a risk bringing Natasha back, leaving her alive. A big risk. Nat was dangerous, no one could deny that. That was why SHIELD had earmarked her for death in the first place. Clint had always assumed the reason he'd gotten off with just a warning was that they'd convinced Nat to joint them. "Thank you. For keeping me. And standing up for me."

"There wasn't another option. Once you started to relax, to be you? It was nice, an asset with a sense of humor. It's surprisingly difficult to find." Long missions were hellish. Deep cover was painful to navigate. Clint Barton's wisecracking and easy smiles had been a breath of fresh air. The first time Phil heard him make a completely serious-sounding, completely bitchy comment to Fury himself, he'd been sold. "I had several different assets before you and before Natasha, but once it was you two... it fits. We fit. At least I think so," Phil added, flashing Clint a smile as he poured the egg into a pan. "That's rare, and I don't intend to let anyone disturb the balance."

"I think we fit, too," Clint decided, reaching over the counter to grab the coffee pot and fill his cup without actually getting up. He meant it in more than one sense. He felt there was little doubt that he, Nat, and Phil all fit together as a team. He was pretty sure any other combination would never be as perfect in the field. In fact, Clint's least favorite thing in the world was being the test dummy for new handlers, which was a common occurrence since he had the best survivability when a new handler ended up being an idiot. In terms of he and Phil fitting together... he wasn't as positive, but he knew for certain that it felt comfortable, being with and around the other man.

Realizing he was spacing out, Clint grabbed some sugar and cream and spruced up his coffee, stirring it with his finger because he couldn't be bothered to get up. He absently watched Phil work, still smirking faintly about the pajama pants, before finally deciding, "Maybe you should get the boxers."

Phil smiled at the idea and hummed his approval as he slid one omelette onto a plate and started the other, then shifted the bacon in the pan. It had, somewhere along the way, become habit to cook for both himself and Clint when time and missions allowed. He wasn't sure when it happened, but he was glad it had. It felt brilliantly, perfectly domestic. Their friendship was established, but it was too early to put pressure on the rest. Phil honestly hoped that however it came down he wouldn't have to get used to always cooking for one again. "I might just order a pair or two. The upside of me being me is that no one's going to have the guts to say anything while I'm changing at the gym."

Clint hadn't thought of that. It actually sounded kind of appealing to think that people might see Phil in Hawkeye boxer shorts and make all the right assumptions. "I think I like that idea," he said with a smirk. He was pretty sure that his handler would kill him if he left hickeys on his neck. The boxers might be the next best thing. Of course, Clint was already plotting his way to leaving a few marks that might at least show up in the locker room. Realizing that blood was starting to flow south and that he was probably starting to get a little flushed, the archer focused on taking another sip of his coffee. "You might make Cap jealous, though," he added, his voice a little rougher than intended. Hell with it. If Phil liked the idea of Clint getting turned on over him, Clint was damn well going to run with it.

The corner of Phil's lips quirked up into a smile at the husky sound of Clint's voice. He wasn't about to break their plan of not rushing, but he looked forward to hearing that a lot more in the future. "I might. Then again, I think I like the idea of seeing you a little jealous better. Maybe I need more with tiny shields on them." He'd done his fair share of being jealous when it came to Clint. Phil wondered if he could inspire the same sort of emotion, if Clint would ever see any need to worry on that count. He shouldn't, of course. For one thing Phil was monogamous by nature, for another he was already more than half crazy about Clint. Phil set a plate down in front of Clint and slid onto the closest stool with another plate for himself. "Steve's a really good guy, but just for the record, I've never wanted to date him."

Clint grabbed his fork overhanded and hunched over his food, elbow on the table around his plate, then reminded himself he didn't have to ram his food in so he could get suited up for an op and changed his posture a bit. Glancing up at Phil, he raised an eyebrow. "You... wanna see me jealous?" he asked, skeptical but amused. He took a bite of his eggs, impressed as always by how good they were, then gave Phil a decidedly predatory look. "I guess if you're gonna go around wearing Cap boxers, I'll have to find some other way to mark you as mine, hm?"

It was categorically impossible not to get turned on by Clint Barton and that tone of voice. "Well, if just the thought of me making you jealous makes you sound like that? Yes, I absolutely want to make you jealous," Phil agreed before he smiled and tucked into his breakfast. Winding Clint up was fun. Knowing that not only was he winding him up, they actually had a chance to see the thing through turned him on to no end. "If you don't want to get jumped on the island before lunch, we should probably start talking about something PG for awhile." 

The archer couldn't help but chuckle as he leaned back, raising a teasing eyebrow at Phil. "Hmm, are you telling me that the mighty Agent Phil Coulson's self discipline is that easy to wear down? Or am I just that good?" he asked, casually taking a bite of food, his face immediately far more innocent than it had been a moment ago. "Then again, I'm pretty sure you're seducing the hell out of me with this omelette, so maybe I shouldn't be so judgmental."

"Little of both," Phil answered honestly, kicking Clint's foot off of the rung of the stool in retaliation. "We started off going a hundred down the interstate, now we're backing it down to neutral. I think it's only fair if we both have a few time outs to call while we ease in." There was a difference between a fling and a relationship, and it didn't take someone who'd had a lot of success with either to see the distinctions. "Good to know my cooking affects you so deeply, though. Wait until I introduce you to hand made pasta. You'll never leave."

"Jesus, I thought we were done talking dirty to each other," Clint breathed, then grinned at the other man. "But you're right; I definitely won't leave after that. Really, though, you already ruined that likelihood when you fed me the first time. Once I know where to get things that aren't field rations or frozen dinners, I tend to keep coming back." It was baloney, of course. Clint might not have always had time to do so, but he had the money to go to the cafeteria or around the block to get something better. The comfort of watching Phil cook for him and the security of sleeping on the man's couch had been more than enough to have him hunting excuses to come back for more. //Guess now I have a free pass. And I don't have to take the couch anymore.//

Even though they both knew it wasn't strictly true, the words made Coulson smile, and that was all he cared about. It was sweet. Clint was being indulgent, thoughtful, and he was more impressed with that than with anything else. "Well, I'm glad to hear it. You're always welcome. I know I said that before, but it's... well, dating can mean different rules. It doesn't have to with us. I don't want to think of this as starting over from scratch on our friendship. We're finding additional things to do together, not losing any of the ones we have already." 

"You look good when you smile," Clint decided, then blushed a little. He knew Phil wouldn't care that he'd said it, but it just sounded ridiculous out loud and he'd said it before he'd gotten a chance to think about it. "Sorry. A little off-topic. But you do." In spite of his best efforts to not eat like he was getting shot at, Clint was already done, and he put his fork down and grabbed his coffee cup to fiddle with it. "And... you know, our outing the other day," his ears burning a little as he realized, "I guess it was... kind of a date, huh?" He felt a little bad about it in a way, knowing now how Phil felt, knowing his handler had been wanting it to be a date and that Clint himself had been friend-zoning Phil as hard as he could.

Phil reached out, his hand closing over one of Clint's and drawing it away from the cup. He felt the rough, calloused spots on the fingers and smiled at the touch. "It was friends spending time together. The last thing I want is for you to feel bad about any of the time we've spent together in the past. Believe me when I say that I don't regret a second of it." Regardless of his crush, Phil had never felt bad about getting extra time in with Clint be it at work or in their spare time - rare as that was. "I'm glad you wanted any of that time with me. I'm glad you want this time with me."

Clint looked up, obviously relieved. "I enjoyed it, even if I didn't know that you... that you cared that much. You've always been there for me, Phil. You've always been a comfort," he said, savoring the way Phil's fingers explored his own. It was a strangely intimate gesture, something that he'd never shared with anyone. With all the scars and calluses on his hands, Clint was rather surprised by how much Phil seemed to like touching them. The archer quietly watched his handler's fingers trail over his own, smiling faintly. "Your place has kinda felt like home for awhile," he murmured shyly.

 

"Feels more like that when you're in it," Phil agreed. He wasn't saying it to make Clint feel beholden somehow, he simply wanted the man to know what his presence meant. It made Phil feel strangely whole when he woke up to Clint's smile and to the way he clung to his coffee mugs like they were a buoy and he was a drowning man. It was adorable and familiar and warmed his heart every time. "You remind me that it's not all about the job. It's easy to forget to be a person sometimes when you're on your third twelve hour shift in a row. I'd feel like I was drowning in paperwork and then you'd be there sitting on my couch so... so normal. I'd remember to breathe."

Clint chuckled. "Or, y'know, unconscious in a pile of after action reports," he pointed out. He was pretty sure he remembered being fussed at about drooling on leather pillows and having his boots on the furniture a time or two, as well. He shrugged, self-consciously fiddling with the coffee mug again. "It's nice, though. I mean, we're cleared to the same levels, so we can talk and bitch about stupid shit that other people pulled." He grinned, stretching his foot out under the table to let his leg rest against Phil's. "You've been pretty good at keeping me sane."

"I'm very glad to hear it. Though I think I would've hated to see you insane if this is you all put together," Phil deadpanned only to break into another grin at the warmth of Clint's leg resting against his own. It surprised him to find that such small gestures, thrilling as they were, happened to be easy and comfortable instead of terrifying and awkward. "Now I just need to get promoted so I'm legally allowed to keep secrets from you again. It could come in handy if we're together a long time."

Clint looked away and smirked as he bit his lower lip. "Oh, I think you've still got more than a leg up on me as far as secrets go, considering I'm pretty sure you saw everything that happened in my suite for - what? - six months? A year? However long it took Fury to decide I wasn't still Loki's flying monkey. Hell, for all I know, you're still supposed to be watching me," he said with a teasing grin. He seemed much more adjusted to the idea then than he had before, but he couldn't keep himself from trying to fluster his handler all over again. Phil got flustered pretty much never, and when he did it was too endearing for words.

Phil blushed to the tips of his ears but didn't let his expression change. "Oh, I'm not supposed to be watching. Now it's just a fetish." He couldn't help but shake his head as he added, "I wonder who's watching me." Catching Clint's gaze, he pressed, "We both know however I ended up still being alive and walking around, it wasn't your average episode of ER. Something went down. I imagine that they're making sure it sticks or that I don't go postal. I would if I were them."

"Just a fetish, huh?" Clint replied, looking amused more than anything. He sobered a little when Phil mentioned his resurrection. It was his turn to reach out and catch hold of the other man's hand. "I'm less worried about postal, more worried about it sticking. I don't think I'd be okay with it... un-sticking," he said the last slowly. He'd worded it intending to keep the comment light, but it hurt to say it. His hand tightened on Phil's as if afraid his handler might suddenly vaporize. "I don't think I can go through that again. Especially not now."

Hearing the emotion in Clint's voice was enough to get Phil choked up, so he gave himself a few seconds before he tried to speak. He didn't want to start crying because for one it would have been ridiculous, and for another, he was pretty sure Clint would have run screaming out of the room - or at least wanted to. Once he felt relatively sure he could manage it, Phil gave Clint's hand a squeeze in return. "Believe me, I'm not going anywhere if I have anything to say about it. Period." He didn't need any assurances from Clint that they'd be together forever to know he wanted to be there for the other man regardless. Romance was nice, but ultimately that was only part of his tie to Clint. "Dying once was plenty."

Clint nodded, taking a deep breath to get hold of himself. He hadn't missed Phil's convulsive swallowing. "Just for the record," he said quietly, tilting his head to make sure Coulson looked at him, "if you ever need to cry, you can. I mean, I'm clumsy and terrible at handling that sort of thing, but... I'll do my best." He smirked faintly. "One of the probie handlers you sent me out with ended up crying on me about his grandma, and I think that's about as awkward as humanly possible. And I still didn't throw him out of the sniper nest." He paused. "If I ever do see Ward cry again, I might just run away. But if it's you, I'll stick around."|

"That... is hard to picture," Coulson allowed, trying to visualize Ward actually breaking down and failing completely. "I guess it's habit to try not to make anyone else deal with my issues. That's something I'll have to work on." If he and Clint were going to really do it, to be together, he wanted the man to feel comfortable sharing with him, which meant he had to be willing to return the favor. "At the moment, though, this is one of the best mornings I've had in forever, and I really don't want to break down crying in the middle of it. I'd be doing the powers that be a disservice not to appreciate this."

Clint nodded his understanding. He got it. Burdening other people with the shit they had to deal with on a daily basis just seemed cruel from any perspective, and enjoying everything they could while they could was practically written SHIELD policy. "Well, that's fair. Then, aside from cancelling plans to bend me over the island, what are we doing with our day, boss?" he asked, smiling impishly. "Last outing was on my schedule, so now it's your turn. Just no orchestral opera things."

 

"Damn, there goes my plans for every day for the rest of our lives." Coulson rolled his eyes but considered the problem at hand. "Tell you what, you go to your place, get some fresh clothes, I'll get dressed. You meet me downstairs in fifteen minutes and I'll have a plan." Making plans was, after all, what he did. He just didn't usually get to make plans that included anything social. "And if you see Natasha, tell her the fruit basket's in the mail."

Clint chuckled. "Will do. Though I still think she'd like an assortment of vodka and chocolate more."

It took him way longer than it should have. Clint wasn't used to agonizing over what to wear. He finally convinced himself that a band shirt under an open button down and black jeans and biker boots would do. Phil hadn't specified, so Clint decided that his best bet was to meet his handler next to Lola, though he made sure not to touch her. Instead, he leaned against a black SUV and stuffed his hands in his pockets, quietly mulling the newfound dimension of their relationship. It was overwhelming and exciting all at once. He wanted to jump in headfirst, but he also wanted to make sure that it was about more than sex and breakfast. //Though those would go a long way...// he thought, smiling a little goofily.

Coulson wasn't surprised to find Clint waiting for him the garage and couldn't help smiling at the sight. People could call Lola a mid life crisis all they wanted. The car and Clint together made for a beautiful visual. "Climb in." Coulson had opted for dark jeans and a button down to avoid a repeat of the experience of being called in on an emergency basis while wearing a t-shirt. They began the drive in companionable silence, the radio playing some low key, middle of the road mix of oldies and modern top 40. 

He drove toward a cordoned off street just shy of the suburbs and found them a spot in a huge dirt lot. As they approached, the signs proclaimed the 'Sins and Needles Festival' in garish letters. "Maybe it's because getting tattoos is something we aren't really encouraged to do, but I find them fascinating. Plus this is more about artists selling work and music..." He trailed off, hoping that the excursion was one to Clint's liking as well. "I thought it might be interesting."

Clint was definitely surprised by the choice. That said, he was pretty damned excited. He was forbidden as a field agent to get inked, primarily because tattoos were too easily identifiable, but he had to admit to loving them. "This is... actually awesome," he said, grinning broadly, hands shoved in his pockets. Phil looked fucking amazing, too. Clint had been sneaking glances at him the whole drive over. Phil always looked good, dressed up or down, but Clint couldn't help but appreciate the man's meticulously casual appearance and the way the shirt's collar complimented his strong jaw. As they got through the gates and drifted into the expo, Clint found himself brushing against Phil occasionally, and finally pulled a hand out of his pocket to offer it to Phil with a shy smile.

The gesture uncurled a knot of tension from Phil's body. He reached out and took Clint's hand with obvious pride. He was grateful to be walking through the place hand in hand with the most handsome guy there. A band took to one of the main stages, and they were ten different shades of amateurish, but it wasn't all bad. "What would you get?" Phil asked out of the blue only to get a blank stare from Clint. "If you were going to get a tattoo, what would you get?"

Clint didn't hesitate. "A sleeve. Something kind of traditional, with something for the guys I couldn't bring back," he said, looking thoughtfully out across the crowds. It was the one thing he truly struggled to deal with. Everything they did was classified, and when they lost an agent, that agent practically disappeared. Their family - if there was one - got a vague letter of condolences extorting their great contributions without ever explaining what those contributions were, and that was it. No plaque, no statue, no memorial. No one else to know or remember. Maybe a memorial on his arm wouldn't be much, but it would've been more than nothing. Clint's blue eyes drifted back to Coulson. "What about you?"

"I don't know, honestly." He looked sheepish when he admitted, "In high school, I almost got the shield on my arm. In retrospect, it's better that I didn't." It was one thing having Steve know he was a bit of a fanboy, it would have been very different trying to explain the tattoo. And somehow he knew he would have ended up awkwardly explaining it whether Steve ever saw the damn thing or not. Certainly it lacked the emotional resonance of a proper memorial tattoo. The sentiment was sweet, the idea one that left Phil gently squeezing the other man's hand as they walked. "I tend to be indecisive about it. It's permanent." He gestured to the booths showcasing everything from fine art to jewelry to photos of the artist's work on skin. "How do you choose out of all this? That's why I like festivals and shows. I can enjoy all of it without having to decide."

Clint was grateful for the other man's grounding presence. Thinking about lost agents, especially knowing he'd killed a few himself - even though it was under someone else's control - hurt in ways he couldn't begin to articulate. The mention of Phil getting the Cap's shield permanently tattooed into him gave him a good chuckle. "I get not being able to decide." It was his turn to squeeze Phil's hand, and he bumped shoulders with the other man. "And I think the shield might've been cool. Just a small one on the shoulder."

Phil reached up, briefly tracing his fingers over Clint's bicep. "I think you'd look good with some art. Your arms are gorgeous. Anything that draws attention to them... well, wouldn't be so bad." He shared a smile with the other man as they drifted toward one of the side stages. "Want to grab a spot in the shade for awhile?" There were few trees in the field serving as a makeshift stadium, and the idea of curling up under one of them for awhile with Clint settled in against him was tempting even with so much left to see.

"I think that's a definite yes. That sun's starting to get to me," Clint agreed, stopping at a stand to get them some bottled water before they found one of the few unoccupied trees. It was a bit further from the stage, but the music was more than loud enough to reach them, anyway. Clint hesitated a moment after they got settled, then leaned lightly against the other man. Phil smelled good, felt good, and the archer found himself melting into his handler without even really thinking about it. "Should've brought a blanket. But at least the grass is nice."

"Mmm," Phil agreed, his back braced against the tree and his arm carefully closed around Clint. He hadn't been sure at first if that would be alright, but the feeling of Clint's body molding itself to his was enough to tell Phil that it certainly was. The day was quickly becoming one of Phil's favorites. It didn't matter what they did or that the band was more mediocre than talented. The only thing that struck a chord was the man by his side. Given that they were one of the more mundane-looking couples in the place, they drew relatively little attention. The lack of scrutiny made Phil feel pleasantly lost in the crowd, luxuriating in being with Clint instead of worrying for once. "This? This is perfect."

Clint sighed and rested an arm over the one around him. "This is. Thanks," he said, smiling when Phil gave him a puzzled look. "For planning it. And for... I don't know. Just thanks." He fell silent, taking in the crowds around them and the middling band and Phil's aftershave. Strong fingers laced with Phil's, and he sighed contentedly. An urge tickled at the back of his mind for several moments before he finally gave in to it, turning his head to press his lips to his handler's throat, lingering a little longer than completely appropriate and not really feeling too terribly ashamed for it.

Phil's cheeks warmed, but he didn't make a single move to stop the man. It felt too good. Out in public they weren't in danger of taking things too far. It meant they had a strangely safe space in which to learn a little more about what fit and felt good. He let out a soft, pleased sigh at the touch of Clint's lips. The hand not carefully tangled with Clint's rose up to move over and through the asset's spiky hair. Everything around them disappeared.

Clint's eyes drifted shut as he savored the gentle contact. "Feels good," he murmured, reaching over his own shoulder with his free hand to slide his fingers up Phil's neck and hooked them behind Phil's head to turn the man's face towards him. It was a little bold, being in public, but he pressed his lips to Phil's, trusting that the agent would stop him if it was too much. It was hard for Clint to worry about it being too much when there were people more or less dry humping each other a couple trees over.

 

Phil leaned into the touch and the kiss. The embrace started out very nearly chaste. They were testing the waters. Slowly they found the perfect position, the perfect place to rest their hands. He didn't really care who was watching. After a brief bout of trying to hide himself away in high school, Phil had given up on it. He'd hated every second of trying to be something he wasn't even if what he was didn't happen to fit the mold his parents had wanted for him. He slid his tongue gently against the seam of Clint's lips, asking for entrance, for permission to test the boundaries a little more.

Clint's arched back slightly against Phil to get that perfect angle. Clint was fairly certain that no one had pushed his buttons so easily since he was barely into his twenties, but the gentle caresses, the careful slide of Phil's tongue against his lips were more than enough to leave Clint tingling from head to toe. He let Phil's tongue into his mouth with a soft whimper, barely remembering where they were as he was lost in the firm press of his handler's body against his own, the fingers subconsciously squeezing his, the feel of Phil's heartbeat thumping a little faster against his shoulder.

Finally Phil had to break off. He needed air, and he needed to see Clint's face flushed and open. He actually looked relaxed for once, and it was gorgeous. If they were going to keep from mauling each other in the middle of a public event, he knew they needed to take a break. Between Clint's body settled in against his own and his lips tingling from the kiss, Phil's control was hanging on by a thread. "I can't tell if you're a terrible influence or a wonderful one." He paused. "I think I like it either way." The heat thrumming through him had very little to do with the sunlight filtering down through the trees leaves and everything to do with Clint.

Eyelids drooping over darkened blue eyes, lips slack, Clint stretched up to follow Phil as the man drew away. The archer realized a moment later that Phil was taking a break, and he settled back against his handler, willing himself to calm down a little as he remembered they were in public. "In that case, I'll have to continue to influence you, one way or another," he decided, his voice a little rougher than usual as his hand dropped to run lightly over the top of Phil's thigh.

Phil swallowed hard at the words and at Clint's tone. Not jumping into bed too soon with Clint was going to take a reserve of inner strength that dwarfed having to keep silent during particularly insipid staff meetings. "Meanwhile we just have to keep ourselves cooled down enough not to get arrested for indecent exposure." His gaze flicked briefly to the couple groping rather thoroughly at another of the trees. "Unfortunately unlike them, we have security clearances to worry about, and arrest records complicate that." He hated worrying about it in that moment because he really wanted to pull Clint onto his lap and keep kissing him until they were too dizzy to do it anymore.

Clint nodded, trying to focus a little. "That's fair," he allowed, smirking impishly at Phil nonetheless. "I'll take it easy on you this time." It was a bluff, of course. Much as he wanted to through Phil down and commit all kinds of public indecency with the man, he also didn't want to cheapen what they had. It was amazing just spending time with Phil. Relaxing. The only other times Clint felt as centered was when he was at the range or meditating. The idea of an actual human being making him feel so calm would take some getting used to, but it was certainly a welcome change.

There weren't many moments where Phil Coulson found himself genuinely considering anything resembling running off and joining the circus, but it was hard to think about going back to work when the alternative was sitting out on the soft grass with Clint tucked up against him. "At the moment, I can't picture a lot of missions that would make me want to move." He rested a hand on Clint's leg, not pushing the boundaries, really, just establishing an additional point of contact. "This is kind of more fun than saving the world."

Clint raised an eyebrow at the other man. "Considering I got body-jacked and you got killed, I'd have to say that getting a root canal is more fun than saving the world, so I'm not sure if that was a compliment," he teased, then wiggled his shoulders as if trying to burrow a little deeper into Phil's chest. "But I'll admit that there's not a lot that could make me move right now. Except maybe the opportunity to finally knock off a certain irritating out-of-towner," he said, careful to redact his real meaning. Not wanting the conversation to turn too serious, Clint tilted his head at Phil. "So, what kind of greasy festival food are we having? I'm pretty sure I'd be down for a funnel cake unless you had something more unhealthy in mind."

"I'll see your funnel cake and raise you deep fried Snickers," Coulson answered. His stomach rumbled in apparent agreement with either idea, and he smiled ruefully. "Damn it, we might have to move. Apparently food is actually the primary motivating factor in my universe, not, y'know, actually saving the universe. Go figure." He continued to stroke his hands over Clint as if he was in no particular hurry anyway. "Maybe a nice, cold, overpriced beer to go with it?" It sounded like the perfect fair experience, and Phil was pretty sure they'd sweat off most of the calories they took in anyway. 

"Sounds like the most beautiful case of indigestion ever thought of," Clint decided, though he was unable to convince himself to stand up and actually pull away from the hands roaming over his body. The touches kindled just the perfect hum of low-grade arousal in him, and he was pretty sure he wanted to stay that way until the sun went down. "I don't know... food and beer are up there on my priorities list, but I think I'd do about anything for you to keep touching me," he murmured, his voice relaxed and thick.

The words were enough to do away with most of Phil's motivation to move again. Ever. He swallowed thickly and turned Clint's head toward his again. A kiss was the only real answer he could think of to those words. Food could definitely wait. He had something far more interesting. Maybe getting arrested for indecent exposure wouldn't be that bad. Maybe he possessed enough self control to not end up dragging Clint into his lap. Maybe.

Clint made a sound of pleasant surprise when Phil's lips fell upon his once again. He'd honestly expected Phil to respond by telling him to get up so they could eat. Instead, the archer found himself parting his lips and whimpering softly as the other man's tongue slid perfectly into his mouth. His hand found one of Phil's, slid upward to rest on the man's forearm and tangle lightly in the man's shirt sleeve. Clint couldn't help the soft whimpers that escaped him as Phil plundered his mouth, and he felt goosebumps rising on his skin.

Phil knew objectively that the way he'd ended up twisting Clint so that he was half turned against him probably wasn't comfortable. Of course, judging from the way Clint was moaning into his mouth and clutching at him, that didn't seem to matter. Phil silently thanked a god he'd never particularly believed in. The kisses weren't desperate, but they were insistent. Phil wasn't interested in giving either of them time to breathe or do anything but soak each other in. 

Clint turned a little, letting one leg drape across Phil's thighs as he fought the urge to fully crawl into the other man's lap. He broke the kiss to let his lips blaze a slow trail down Phil's neck as he tried to calm himself a little, though it wasn't working as well as he'd hoped. "Phil," he rasped, "I am not the only terrible influence leaned up against this tree."

"You might not be entirely wrong. Did I mention I actually lost my virginity in a car at a concert? I'm starting to worry it might be a fetish." He laughed and tried to breathe through the hazy fog of want wrapping him up tight. "Maybe we should go get food. If I keep kissing you, this will get extremely inappropriate extremely fast." He was already on his way to it being awkward to get up and walk at all. Anymore heady kisses from Clint and all bets would be off. 

Clint swallowed hard and nodded, biting his lip as the roughness in Phil's voice. It was exciting to hear the man's level tone tinged with that edge of arousal, and nearly impossible to pry himself away. He managed somehow, though, pushing himself off Phil and forcing himself to his feet. Making a few personal adjustments and willing himself to calm down, he offered Phil a hand up as well. "So... beer and funnel cake and fried Snickers," he said, trying to sound casual with his face still thoroughly flushed.

"We look ridiculous," Phil observed as he took Clint's hand. He didn't really mind. Clint was worth looking ridiculous for. "Well, I look ridiculous. You actually look kind of gorgeous. Why do you look gorgeous when you're blushing? I just look like I got winded running up the stairs." The complaint lacked venom, and soon they found the stands to procure the items they'd decided on with a last minute addition of spiral cut potatoes. "If we're going to do the fair food, we might as well do this all the way. There's no more certain way to prevent sex than eating enough to make you feel like you never want to move again."

"Giving ourselves explosive gas is also a viable approach," Clint deadpanned, though he couldn't bite back his smirk for too long as he led them over to the rows and rows of picnic tables. Finding one that didn't look like it was covered in West Nile virus, he settled in, making sure to pat the bench next to him. He tucked into the funnel cake and potatoes, grinning at the first few bites. "God, I'd forgotten how good this stuff is. Phil, I hope you realize this is going straight to my thighs. Right now. As we speak." It wasn't, of course. Clint still had the metabolism of a teenager.

"I happen to be fond of your thighs. I'm pretty sure I still will be even if there's more of them," Phil decided, tucking into the food with equal vigor. "I'll be hitting the gym tomorrow. Possibly for most of the day after this, to be honest." It took a lot more than it had once upon a time to keep off the extra weight, but he also indulged so heavily no more than a few times a year. It was a treat, not a lifestyle, which generally afforded him something of a buffer even when his job kept him on his ass at a desk for long, frustrating stretches. "Thankfully I know I'll regret this later otherwise I'd be worried about doing it too often."

Clint grinned. "I think I remembered to bring my Tums. That'll help," he said, eyeing the Snickers bar in Phil's hand. He reached out and grabbed the wrist said hand was attached to and making sure he got eye contact, Clint jammed entirely too much of the bar into his mouth and took a bite before letting Phil go and chewing casually as if nothing strange had happened. He was moving back to the potatoes as he casually remarked, "Man, that's a lot more sugar than I'm used to."

 

Phil recovered slowly from the sight and finally shook his head. "I'm even more convinced now that you're the terrible influence," he decided. He tried to look disgruntled, but it was difficult when the sight of Clint taking half of the bar down had been far too close to more intimate activities, and it had left him barely able to think about anything but the night before. "Terrible influence," he grumbled again before returning to eating. Phil couldn't quite drag his gaze away from Clint again, though, watching the movement of his throat as he chewed and the wicked glimmer in his eyes. "You're making it very difficult to try to re-establish that I'm actually not easy."

Clint laughed around the mouthful of food, but had the decency to swallow it before he replied, "Hey, as long as you're only easy for me, we're just fine." He winked playfully. "Besides, it can be our secret. And besides," he took another chunk of funnel cake, giving Phil a look that would have been more suited to a pinup model's attempt at 'innocent', "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You're actually a terrible liar. For a spy, I'm pretty sure that's not good." It warmed his heart the way their thighs rested together and their feet tangled under the table not entirely accidentally. If he hadn't been one of the participants, Phil supposed he would've found it rather disgustingly adorable. As one of the participants, it made him giddy. "So you're saying that if I take you home and have my way with you somewhere around date number three, you aren't going to assume I do that with everyone? We'll just pretend we didn't skip the whole first date part before the first time? I'm worried that this could ruin my reputation for being completely frigid. The newbies are never going to believe I'm a robot."

Clint pointed the neck of his beer bottle at Phil. "They're also never going to believe I'm in a monogamous relationship, especially with Agent Phil Coulson," Clint countered, punctuating his point by taking a swig. "Really, there's a lot of plausible deniability at play, here. It wouldn't be that tough to pull off. Throw in a little shock and awe and I bet we'd keep them confused for the better part of six months. I bet we could even recruit Nat for a little denial and deception. Put all that together, we could probably get away with all kinds of stuff. I'm think around the fifth or sixth date, we could even get naked in the ammo locker and nobody'd believe anyone that happened to accidentally catch us."

"You know, I really like the way you think sometimes," Phil answered with an easy smile. He finished off the last of the Snickers and held his hands up. "Okay, I'm going to regret this already. If I have another bite or two, I'm going to regret it for more than one day." Considering they could be called in at any minute, Phil knew they had to keep at least some boundaries in place for their own safety and sanity. The hard wooden bench was intensely uncomfortable. It also happened to be perfect when it meant sitting next to Clint. He rested his chin on one palm and enjoyed the serenity of watching.

Clint took a few more bites of the funnel cake, then belched quietly. "Damn. That thing was huge. More like a deep-fried hubcap than a cake," he decided, though he still looked pretty pleased as he finished the last bite of potatoes. He grinned, still working his way through the beer, though he was obviously done with the food. "So, now what? More necking under a tree, or is this where I talk you into getting a little red, white and blue shield tattooed on your ass?" 

Phil blushed and decided, "Let's go with some more making out under the tree. I don't think I've had enough beer to think a tattoo is a good idea." He rose and snagged his bottle, gathering the trash and then tossing it into the barrel nearby. He knew without testing the theory that Clint would have left it all on the table. Phil had never been able to divorce himself from thinking about who would have to clean it up after working a stint as a janitor in high school. "Besides," he added as they headed toward the grassy area again, "I'd get an arrow."

Clint's first reaction was surprise. "You... would?" he asked, pausing to let Phil catch up the two steps between them and taking the man's hand. His next thoughts were to feel touched and then a little scared. Phil getting a permanent reminder of the archer embedded into his skin was a surprisingly weighty commitment. On the other hand, it was kind of a sexy idea, and Clint couldn't help but feel a little proud of the idea that he'd trumped the Cap as a theoretical tattoo prospect. And it was just theoretical. For the moment. Probably. Clint allowed himself a broad smile that said that he was mostly letting the idea go straight to his head and carried himself a little taller. "If I wasn't sure I'd have to surgically remove Tony to get his attention, I think I'd go brag to Rogers right about now," he teased, bumping his shoulder against Phil's and grinning faintly.

Phil rolled his eyes and tried not to blush. He'd been terrified the second after he said it that even as a joke it might be too much, might smack of too much commitment too fast. Instead Clint seemed pretty damned pleased with it all even as a vague idea, and Phil let himself breathe again. "That might be a bit premature since I'm fairly certain that getting any ink would still be frowned on." Though their seat wasn't as close as before, a few intimidating stares managed to get them another tree. Phil happily took his post on the ground. It felt like coming home when Clint resumed his spot close up again. "Right now I just want the real thing."

"Real thing is definitely better," Clint decided, letting himself practically melt against Phil's form once again. It felt amazing to be against his handler, to feel so safe. Clint was quiet for a moment before something occurred to him. "Hey, you remember that op where we got forced to hide together in the broom closet? Where it was so close we could barely close the door?" He turned his head to look at Phil and smiled slowly, a wicked spark in his eye. "And I was complaining about your sidearm poking me... but it wasn't your sidearm, was it?"

Phil gave up on even attempting not to blush. It had been one of the most awkward and oddly wonderful afternoons of his life. He'd also kind of hoped Clint had forgotten it completely. "You're a terrible human being." He knew his expression was confirmation enough. Fury, Romanov, and Barton were probably the only people in the world who could read him without even trying most of the time. Unwilling to let Clint win the moment entirely, he added, "And I seem to remember you stopped complaining after while. You seemed to get pretty comfortable, actually."

Clint chuckled. "Well, it wasn't like I had a choice." He wriggled a little against Phil and let his hand rest at the top of Phil's thigh, a little closer than strictly appropriate to much less G-rated areas. "Besides, once I figured it out, I was mostly just wondering what caliber it was," he admitted, looking at the other man through his eyelashes and having the decency to blush a little himself. "Though I just sort of assumed it was less me and more that you were bored sitting still and were thinking dirty thoughts. I mean, that's mostly how I keep myself awake in the sniper nest after the first couple hours."

 

"Who says I wasn't?" Phil challenged with a flicker of a smile. "My dirty thoughts just happened to involve you." Which had, naturally, made the situation a few extra billion times more awkward. Also a little more pleasant. It had evened out in his mind on some sort of karmic scale. They'd survived, he'd managed to not embarrass himself any more fully than necessary, and Clint hadn't brought it up again. Until he did. "Hopefully now that you have more information on the make and model, I'm just going to assume you're happy with what you're buying into since you're still here." Phil looped his arms around Clint's chest. "Not that I'd let you go just at the moment either way." 

"Mmm, bondage. Well, you know I like that," Clint said, giving Phil a pointed look over his shoulder before he rested his hands atop his handler's, his fingers sliding into the indents between Phil's knuckles. He settled against the other man with a sigh. "Y'know, it's not fair," he pouted, though he didn't really sound upset. "I mean, you pretty much know exactly what I'm into. And all I know is that you like BJs in dark corners in night clubs." He was silent for a moment, then smirked. "Though I do like one thing that I'm betting your tapes might not have shown you." Instead of elaborating, though, Clint yawned and fell silent, letting his eyes droop sleepily and let the warm sun combined with beer and a full stomach lull him gently towards sleep.

Phil laughed and gave the man in his arms a gentle squeeze. "Actually, I already knew that too. My office couch has a Clint-shaped dent in it." He whispered the words, not really wanting to break the spell, and then fell silent. He was content to hold onto Clint and enjoy the music and the day. It was comfortable in a perfect, easy kind of way that Phil realized he'd missed. His scattered relationships had rarely allowed the luxury. The only one that had come close was Audrey, but that had fallen by the wayside after his "death," and when she’d moved on, it was easier to let her go than explain. It was easier with Clint, who had security clearance of his own. They could speak freely, and they knew one another's rhythms after years of practice.

"Mm?" Clint blinked a little, then shook his head. "Well, the fact that I sleep in your office when you're not there aside." He rolled into his side, pressing himself against Phil and throwing an arm and a leg over the man. "I was talking," he yawned out, "about something way dirtier. But I don't know if I should tell you yet. Maybe I should tell you later. As a surprise. Around the third date."

Coulson couldn't help but be curious precisely as Clint had intended. He reached up to stroke his fingers through Clint's hair. "Something I don't know? I didn't know there were such things." He wasn't actually quite as much of a know it all as most of his coworkers tended to think, but Phil kept on top of things. He did his homework, so to speak, and it showed. Leaning down until his lips almost touched Clint's ear, he whispered, "Any way I could convince you to tell me sooner?"

Clint felt himself shiver a little at the words, the gentle whisper against his ear. His breath caught silently as he tried to force himself to stay calm. The low, intimate croon of Coulson's voice in his ear was oddly intriguing. "Maybe," he said, trying to keep the sleepy murmur in his voice even though he was pretty awake at the moment. "But you'd probably have to work for it. I'm feeling more like napping than talking."

"Mmm hmm." Coulson knew the difference. Clint could fake his tone, but he couldn't really do much about his heart rate. Still, he was willing to play along. It was hard to resist doing a little something anyway. Phil let his lips brush against the shell of Clint's ear. "Well, far be it from me to keep you from sleeping on a beautiful afternoon like this. Even if I do enjoy hearing you talk." He actually did. There were missions where the steady stream of conversation from Clint had helped keep him sane. "Just going to keep kissing your ear, though. Hope you don't mind."

Clint's blue eyes went from hooded by fatigue to being hooded from arousal. He opened his mouth to take a too-deep breath and shifted a little, humming his approval. "That's not fair," he protested, fighting to keep the thickness from his voice. His ears were sensitive. Ridiculously so. Virtually any protest or train of thought could be interrupted by just a little attention in that area. "Okay, if you keep kissing me there, there's a good chance I might dry hump your leg until I cum, whether you want it or not," he breathed as goosebumps erupted on his forearm. Leaning up so that he could press his lips to Phil's throat, he whispered, "I'll talk." He smirked faintly, running his hand down Phil's chest. "I'm guessing you saw in your surveillance that I never bottomed." He thought of Nat. "For guys." He tilted Phil's face towards his own and pressed their lips together. "Truth is, I like to bottom sometimes. But only when I know and trust someone," he said softly.

At the pronouncement, Phil found himself wondering if he might not just let Clint carry through with his threat, crowd be damned because he's wondered about that. With Natasha, Clint has always seemed to take a submissive role, and yet Phil had never seen something like it with a man. It suddenly made perfect sense. The hard line in the sand had absolutely nothing to do with gender and absolutely everything to do with trust, and he felt like an idiot for not putting that together. Phil returned the soft kiss and couldn't help smiling. "Not that I wouldn't be okay with things the other way around too," he assured firmly, "but I'm glad. When the time's right and we're ready and you're comfortable with it, I would really like to make love to you." 

Clint smiled at the profoundly sweet way Phil put it. It was on the tip of his tongue to tease his handler a little for the old-fashioned wording, but he held back. Clint wasn't used to someone being so gentle with him, and he reminded himself that it was something he probably needed. Phil didn't want to just fuck him. He wanted to make love. He wanted to take his time and get to know Clint. That was the point of the whole date, after all. "I'd like that," he said, wondering just how many years it had been. Not just a few. Clint was working to remember if he'd even bottomed since he joined SHIELD. He couldn't remember it if he had. "Both ways." After all, sticking to one role could get a little boring. Clint's hand slid over Phil's chest as he pressed himself tight against his lover again. "And now you know my weakness, too. So much for the last of my secrets."

Phil laughed at that idea. He wasn't sure he'd ever know everything about Clint, let alone learn it in a single afternoon. "I know one," he allowed. "I guess that means the next step is you figuring out all my secrets. You and Natasha probably already know than anybody else alive." Not even Fury knew him quite as well as they did. So many long missions away with the tight knit team meant that they'd learned things about each other that didn't get seen by the people in charge. It didn't mean, however, that they knew a lot of the deeper things. Phil tried to search his memory, wondering what Clint really knew about him even after so many years. "I'm guessing maybe not so much, though, really."

Clint looked up at Phil and tilted his head thoughtfully. "Probably not. You're a pretty mysterious guy. I could learn to like that," he teased, grinning. "Phil Coulson, man of mystery. So sexy and dangerous." He smirked. "I am, however, aware of the fact that I'm the only person you'll let on your office couch with boots on. Because Simmons caught me sleeping there one day and acted like you were going to have Nat take me out."

"Very true," Phil agreed with a nod. "Fitz put his shoes up on my table once. He didn't ever do it again." It wasn't so much that he was bothered by the act as that he'd enjoyed the look of terror on Fitz face when he made his displeasure clear. Just because he was fond of Fitz-Simmons didn't mean they didn't need to get shaken up from time to time. It was a pretty surface sort of fact, and it felt odd to realize how little Clint probably knew beyond the obvious. Deciding to go for broke, he offered, "My mother died last year. We were in Mexico - that op with the cartel. That's why I was such a dick that week."

Clint lifted his head, soulful blue eyes rising to search Phil's face. "I had no idea," he said quietly. If Nat had known, she hadn't said anything, and Clint doubted that she would have known something that major and not told him. "I'm sorry. I mean, I know that's... not much, but... I am." He was quiet a moment, then sat up more and put his arm around the other man's shoulders. "Did you tell anybody?" That was a big burden to bear, and even bigger if Phil hadn't told anyone. Clint didn't know or care if his parents were alive or dead, but he knew that that was something major for most people.

"I... a few people. Fury, a couple of friends. Work's a place where I feel like I'm in control. I didn't really want anyone looking at me like I was broken." Of course, that hadn't worked out very well since once he'd surfaced again after the whole mess with Loki people had either looked at him like he was probably a vampire or about to keel over. "I didn't have to take much time off. She lived pretty close." He leaned into Clint's embrace and was grateful for the support. Even a year later, it stung, and knowing that Clint cared meant more than anything else. "It was easier keeping things normal when I was on the clock."

Clint pressed his forehead to Phil's temple. "You realize, of course, that Nat and I both are gonna have to beat you. I know we're your work and all, but I think both of use would like to register as at least friends, too." He gave the other man a wink. "In may case, hopefully more," he said, then sobered a little. "But, seriously, you should've told us. It wasn't like we were gonna go blabbing. And it would've been a lot easier to be understanding about you being an asshole." Well, Clint never was good at staying serious for whole sentences.

Phil laughed aloud at that and hugged Clint a little tighter. "You're right. I... it isn't the decision I'd make today," Phil answered, "and not just because of us. I'm not ready to be over-share guy like Tony, but I think that it's safe to say I haven't done anybody any favors holding back so much." He stretched up to kiss Clint's cheek and couldn't resist nuzzling into his neck while he was there. Maybe it was a little silly, but he liked it. "I don't want the people who I'm closest to to not even know me."

"Good. Because if you keep holding back secrets, I'm gonna get some of that truth serum from Fitz-Simmons and stab you with it," Clint threatened, smiling as Phil burrowed into his neck. "I still have to hunt down your ticklish spots and find out what embarrasses you most. Other than Nat announcing that the two of you got busy on a mission." He thought a moment. "Oh! And I have to figure out what makes you blush. Like really makes you blush. Uncontrollably."

"Nat did a pretty good job." Phil still went pink just thinking about it. "You'll figure it out. I'm not usually watching myself, so I don't know what makes me turn the most red." It was actually kind of nice, though, the idea of Clint learning about him. More than that, the idea of Clint wanting to learn about him. Knowing Clint wanted to sleep with him was mind blowing. Knowing that Clint wanted to actually get to know him was something else entirely. "I'm in a pretty good mood right now with a hot guy to cuddle and a nice day and decent music. If you wanted to play twenty questions, this would be the time."

Clint thought about it. "Well, I know your favorite drink is coffee, and so's your favorite food. So that takes care of that. Hmm, tough to know what to ask you. I mean, I know all the surface stuff. Guess... Hmm... Guess I'll have to get a bit more personal." He took one of Phil's hands and laced their fingers together. "Okay, here's one. When did you figure out you liked guys? And how?"

Apparently Clint was pretty good at hitting on embarrassing questions without even trying. Phil blushed, but he didn't shy away from answering. "I was... five? Six? You won't be surprised to learn that there were Captain America posters all over my room. I very confidently told my mother that when I grew up, I was going to marry him. She was less than thrilled." He shrugged. "So the answer is that I always knew. I like women, I like men. While I generally prefer men, I've actually dated more women. I didn't really come out until after my dad died. It was my senior year of high school." 

Phil squeezed the hand so carefully entwined with his own. "Then it was only to my friends. I'd graduated college before I told my mom. She spent a long time being really angry, but not really with me. With the universe, I guess. Eventually she realized that she wasn't going to have grandchildren whether I dated a man or a woman. She kind of gave up, really, but it made life easier for both of us." He gave Clint a quick smile. "Or did you want the more explicit version?"

Clint smiled back, opened his mouth to say something smartass, then shook his head. "I... No, actually. I mean, not that I'm above hearing dirty stories about you, but... no. That was perfect." He ran his thumb over Phil's, thinking quietly. "I was a lot older before I realized it. Dad was..." Clint choked a little on his words and shook his head. "Well, I didn't feel too safe telling anyone in my family much of anything that personal, and I got the feeling that being anything but 'normal' wasn't okay, so... I just tried not to let myself think too much about the fact that I'd catch myself staring a little too long at the other guys in the locker room or feel my pulse hike when I got to look through men's health magazines. I kinda managed to not think about it for a long while, and then I found myself in the circus." He smirked, looking a lot more relaxed. "They didn't see things as much in black and white. I was about sixteen when I joined."

Phil had been tracing shapes on Clint's thighs with his fingers while the man spoke, and when Clint finally stopped, he shared a small smile with him. "I'm sorry that it took so long, but I'm glad you found a place where you felt safe, comfortable." He'd known from Clint's file that his upbringing wasn't the best, but he'd never known that specific detail. "You, just the way you are, is beautiful. Wouldn't change a thing." He cupped Clint's cheek and drew him down into a soft, lingering kiss. "Wish I could have seen you in the circus, actually. I bet that was a hell of a show."

Clint smiled, feeling himself blush a little. "It was pretty cheesy, really. Just a lot of me doing a lot of acrobatics and shooting things while wearing spandex." He was downplaying it, but he hated bragging on himself. People had loved his act, especially the mercenaries that had offered him an opportunity to 'really utilize' his talents. "Though I guess if you've seen me on an op, it's about the same. Just less trapeze and more people getting dead."

Phil laughed but wasn't willing to play along with Clint's usual downplaying of his abilities. "I've seen you in the field, so I know it wasn't cheesy. It was probably beautiful." Natasha and Melinda May were probably the only two other people in the world he knew who even came into the realm of being competition when it came to skill and grace. Clint moved like he was floating. Coulson had been on the line while the man crawled through metal duct work without making a damn sound. "Besides, maybe I just wanted to see you in the spandex."

"What, my field suit's not tight enough for you?" Clint countered with a smirk. He had to admit, he'd been skeptical the first time he'd suited up. He was pretty sure he was about to spend an entire mission with the most profound wedgie the world had ever known. He'd been pleasantly surprised when the ridiculously high-tech getup had actually proven to be pretty comfortable. "Because I'm pretty sure you can see the outlines of everything in that getup."

 

It was very, very true. It was also half the reason the closet scenario had been so difficult. Not only had Clint been pressed up against him, but the fabric did absolutely nothing to hide the hard lines of his body. "You have a point there. Maybe the spandex isn't necessary. I think maybe as a next step just seeing you naked would be better. Even after last night, we've both only really gotten a preview." That was almost good. They knew they could get each other off, which relieved some potential sexual pressure, but there was still something left to look forward to. They hadn't blown every last detail on one drunken hookup. The first time they were really together would still be new. "Luckily I'm pretty sure you're well worth waiting for."

Thinking back to the previous night made Clint want to tell Phil he didn't have to wait another goddamn minute, but he bit back the urge. Diving into bed with one person after another was a habit he was trying to break, not reinforce. Realizing a moment later that Coulson was also handing him a pretty big compliment, Clint had the duck his head and shrug. "I think I might be," he said, shyly tugging at a blade of grass. Clint wasn't accustomed to people telling him he was good looking, but he was more than comfortable with how he looked naked. He looked up, still slightly flushed, and gave his handler a smile. "I think you might be, too." 

Though he wasn't sure that it was a fair comparison, Phil still took the compliment with a grateful smile. "I hope so. As long as you think so..." Beauty was in the eye of the beholder, and if Clint was happy with the view he was getting, that was what mattered. Phil had never been under any illusions that he'd seduce every person he met, and he'd never particularly wanted to try. Being good enough for Clint would be more than enough for him. His cell buzzed, and Phil genuinely considered ignoring it for a few long minutes before he reluctantly fished the thing out. The news sobered him slightly, but he was glad there was no addendum to come in. "Boss man thinks our out of town friend might show up soon." It was easy to convey information casually with someone who knew him - and the situation - so well. "No need to start shift early, though."

Clint's phone had gone off a moment after Phil's - a sure sign it was work-related - and he looked up from his attempts to retrieve his own copy of the message. "Well... I guess that's not the worst news we've had lately," he decided, relaxing back into his lover. He still held a bit of tension in his spine, though, as he leaned against Phil. "Dammit, can't someone else save the world for once?" he groused, trying to focus on anything else and failing miserably. "I vote we build a blanket fort and refuse to come out until this blows over."

"How about we survive the world nearly ending, and then we build a blanket fort and don't come out of it for a month or two? I can think of a lot of things we could do locked up and surrounded by nothing but pillows and blankets." A few of them weren't even pornographic, but only a few. Phil let a hand slide up to carefully massage the knots out of Clint's neck and shoulders. "Just do me a favor and stay out of the line of fire. I got the impression the out of towner's not really happy with either one of us." 

Clint practically purred as Phil worked the knots from his shoulders, turning into a puddle of happy archer against his date rather quickly. He rolled over onto his stomach, half on top of the other man as he murmured, "You can just do that until I get tired of it. And I promise, no mooning Captain Crazypants without good cause. Wouldn't wanna miss out on the blanket fort. Too many microwave s'mores I need to eat." Remembering their last encounter with Loki sent a chill through Clint. The god had nearly gotten to both of them. If it hadn't been for that creepy, possessed hammer, neither of them would have survived.

"I think I can handle this for awhile." Actually he liked it. He'd done it before in a far more perfunctory and more professional capacity, easing a few aches and pains so that Clint was ready for the next part of a mission. It was a different experience to have Clint draped over his lap and moaning softly as each of the knots was gently eased into oblivion. "I can keep it up at least until you forget that we have work to do later. Today it's just us." And if Loki tried to get in the way of it, Phil was going to kill the god with his bare hands, magical powers or no magical powers. 

Clint sighed happily, letting Phil work. "God, you're good at that. I mean, I knew you could patch folks up in a pinch, but... I think you should be a doctor. Or at least my doctor. No playing doctor, though. That's a little weird," he decided. He knew he was rambling, but he felt too relaxed and comfortable to worry about what Phil might think. Phil smelled amazing, even under the beer and fried food, and there was a halfway decent band on the stage. Clint wondered absently if this was what everyday life was like for normal people.

"I think we've both logged enough hours in medical that doctors aren't all that sexy anymore." Frankly Phil hadn't ever gotten the mystique, but he supposed money was enough of a draw for most people. "I'll be happy to be your private physician, Agent Barton... as long as you pay in entirely inappropriate, government unapproved trade. By which I mean blow jobs." He only half heard the band. It didn't sound half as good as Clint's voice.

Between the feel of Phil's hands on his shoulders and the words, Clint couldn't help the low sound of pleasure that rumbled in his throat. "Well, lemme know when you're ready to collect payment, boss," he murmured thickly, dipping his fingers into Phil's waistband. It was a tease. Mostly. Well, if Clint were honest with himself, he'd have gone right for it right then if Phil had given him the green light. //Let's hope he has more self restraint than I do.//

That was all it took to get the blood flowing soundly south of Phil's belt. He took a slow breath on and let it out before he trusted himself to speak. "I think I'll take a rain check. I’d like next time to be just for us." He still found himself wondering if Fury had seen the security footage yet and hoping not. He still had to look the man in the eye later.

Clint found himself relieved and disappointed all at once. "Fair enough," he said with a wink and a devilish smile. Unable to resist teasing the other man a little more, he leaned up and whispered in his ear, "I'd do it, though. Not for anyone, but for you? I'd suck you off right here in front of everyone." Clint might have been a bit of an exhibitionist, after all, but right there in broad daylight on a grassy hill at a concert would be ballsy even for him. Smirking to himself, the archer subsided, leaning against his lover and working to calm himself down enough to avoid poking Phil in the leg.

Half hard and dying to make Clint follow through with the promise. Phil gripped Clint's hand tightly, sharing the tension. The last thing he wanted was for Clint to think it was lack of interest keeping him from saying yes. Unfortunately he knew better. He knew that no matter how anonymous a moment felt, there were always eyes. The only eyes he wanted on Clint's body anymore were his, so Phil knew he'd have to be at least a little patient. "When we get back, I'm going to take the longest, coldest shower of my life."

Clint laughed. "I'd offer to join you, but I think that might defeat the purpose," he said, not quite managing to get all the thickness out of his voice. "Just think of it as revenge for poking me in the ass for an entire afternoon with no follow-through." While he'd never really thought of any real relationship with Phil before Nat's intervention, Clint still distinctly remembered fantasizing about how the whole scenario could have ended. Of course, he'd wrongly assumed that it had had nothing to do with him. //Well, that's what happens when you assume…//

Though Phil rolled his eyes, he was willing to allow, "Okay, maybe I deserve it. A little. But you didn't exactly offer to help me out either." He brought Clint's hand up to his lips and placed a kiss on it. "It's getting late, the mosquitoes are coming out, and I need to stand up for awhile or my legs are going to be permanently numb. There's a little shop not too far away - coffee, tea, that kind of thing. We could walk it and then head back for the car when we're done." The shop was one of his hideouts, a place to retreat from the Tower without being so impossibly far that he'd get berated by Fury for being out of touch or unreachable.

"I like it." Clint gracefully rose to his feet and offered a hand to pull Phil up with him. "You know, assuming you're alright standing up," he teased as he tugged Phil to his feet. He let Phil lead the way, trying to play off the fact that one of his feet had fallen asleep as well. He hooked an arm in Phil's as they walked, unable to keep from smiling faintly at how pleasant the whole thing was. "I think you officially chose well. The date, I mean. This was... is... fun. And I could sure as hell use a cup of coffee right before bed. Because I don't know how to act like a grownup."

 

“It's one of your most charming qualities," Phil answered. He couldn't keep from grinning at Clint as they walked. He felt stupidly young and happy and honestly satisfied. The coffee shop was a hole in the wall - it literally occupied the space between two stores and was long, narrow, and had only a wall of stools and a bar as a place to sit, save for a single table at the front window. Phil let Clint order, then got a decaf herbal tea for himself before grabbing both and carrying them over to the front table. "It's a nice place to watch the city without being part of it for a few minutes."

Clint held out his hands for the massive triple shot mocha like a kid reaching for a candy bar. He smiled as he took the first sip, then nodded his approval. "Okay, this place is definitely acceptable. Maybe even awesome. I also may have to get some kind of revenge, though, for you not telling me about it sooner."

"I said it was my place to get away. Maybe I wasn't sure I wanted to get away with you yet," Phil countered, though his smile said that it was mostly a joke. "Honestly, I guess I never thought sitting around chatting in a coffee shop with your handler would be on your to do list." Most of the time Clint spent his time haunting rough bars or staying in with Natasha from what Phil could tell. "You'd think I would have learned by now that making assumptions is a stupid thing to do."

Clint shrugged and smiled. "I guess it has been awhile since I did the coffee thing. And I might've felt a little weird about coffee with my boss," he admitted, taking another sip. "But if I'd known the mochas were this good, you probably could've talked me into it." In truth, coffee shops were usually either a source of fuel or a dating site, and since the latter hadn't happened in... well, longer than Clint liked to consider, finding a *good* coffee shop hadn't really been priority. "But then, maybe you don't know as much about me as I thought."

"Maybe I don't." He quieted while they drank in silence, staring out at the city and the people walking by the window. "Is Natasha the only reason?" Phil realized the second was clear as mud to anyone not following his internal train of thought and clarified, "Is she the only reason you haven't dated?" Certainly Clint had an active sex life. Overactive at times, actually, from what Phil had seen, but he'd never done anything in Phil's memory that could be considered any form of actual dating, let alone a relationship.

Clint thought about it, then shook his head. "I guess not. Maybe? Hard to tell. I think she was a lot of it. I was just hoping, you know? I was afraid that I'd get close to someone and then suddenly she'd come around and I'd have to choose." He fiddled with his cup. "That, and... I don't know. It just seemed scary to let someone in. I was afraid, too, that I'd find someone, then they'd get to know me, then run screaming at some point. I mean, I don't exactly have a great resume. I ran away to join the circus, I was a mercenary for a bunch of terrorist shitbags, and now I'm an assassin for a scary government agency. Not exactly online dating material." He gave Phil a sheepish look. "Sorry. That... that makes it sound like I think you have low standards or something. Mostly, it's just that... well, you know everything about me that I'd expect to be a deal breaker and you aren't running. You haven't run. You've been my friend, in fact. One of the few... make that *two* close ones that I have."

Phil couldn't help but smile at the admission despite the fact that it was sad at its heart. He curled the hand not wrapped around his tea firmly around Clint's. "My standards are extremely high, actually, so don't worry about that. You're right: what we do doesn't make relationships easy. It makes them hard and stressful, and they're frankly hard and stressful enough as it is." He snorted. "My last relationship ended because I died. It doesn't exactly make for a shining example of why this is a good idea. Ultimately I kind of don't mind if it's a good idea. I like you. Hopefully you like me. That's enough for a start."

Clint squeezed Phil's hand and smiled, feeling better. He had to remind himself that relationships were a step at a time process. Trying to see things two weeks ahead was stupid, and trying to project further out was even more idiotic. "I do like you," he affirmed with no hesitation. "A lot. Still kind of feel dumb that I didn't think of this before. See, and now you're stuck, because I have enough of a clearance level that just dying won't get you out of this. So you might be stuck with me for a minute."

"I'm really, really okay with that. Not that I'm trying to plan things out too much, but do you think you might like to get some stuff and crash with me again tonight? I promise I'm not propositioning you, but I think there's a good chance we'll be up early enough to see the sun rise." If Loki had things planned, he doubted the god would wait until a decent hour to unroll his evil schemes. "To be honest, I sleep better when you're close."

Clint smiled faintly, then quickly covered it as he made a show of thinking it over. "Well, maybe. I mean, I'm not so sure. It does sound an awful lot like you're propositioning me, and I'm pretty concerned about my purity and stuff." Mostly, Clint was concerned that he wouldn't be able to keep his hands off if he woke up next to Phil again with them in nothing but their underwear. He fiddled with his coffee cup. "But I guess I could be convinced if you promise not grope too much."

"I promise a minimum of groping with a caveat that I'm allowed to cop a feel or two," Phil agreed mildly. Their cups were more or less empty, and the evening had faded into darkness while they sat in peace. "Come on, let's get going. I get the impression that we'll be lucky if tomorrow night is as calm as this one." He didn't bother letting go of Clint's hand because walking while holding onto Clint was fast becoming one of his favorite things.


	10. Stolen Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a little work is done and a little relaxation is found.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now Steve & Tony get a little fluff time. They deserve it too.

Steve had the grace to blush at being called out. "Give us a half hour, Clint." He knew he couldn't afford to let Tony stay with him no matter how much he wanted it, but that didn't mean he was above insisting on keeping Tony to himself for a short period of time. "Bruce could use the breather anyway." There would be no good argument to that and Steve damn well knew it.

Tony didn't give anyone a chance to argue further, especially when Nat had the decency to smirk at Steve's near-sneaky tactics. He grabbed the blonde by the hand and tugged him out of the room. "I think thirty minutes was a little bit conservative, but I have to give you points for craftiness," Tony admitted, smirking proudly.

"Yeah, sorry, I would've tried for more, but... the stuff you have to do is kind of important." Steve sighed as they walked, wandering through the halls without any definite destination. He spotted a couch set near one of the windows for lounging and dragged Tony over to it. If they went upstairs, he wasn't sure just how focused he could keep Tony - or himself - on their deadline. "I don't want you to think that I don't want the time, though. I really, really do." His fingers locked together with Tony's, and Steve looked down at the strange contrast created by the too-slender fingers that were his again. "Still wrapping my head around the fact that this isn't freaking you out more."

Tony looked down at their hands as well. "I was kinda afraid I would freak out," he confessed. It still felt a little surreal. He smiled when Steve looked back up at him. "Still love you." Knowing that wasn't the only question in Steve's mind, the billionaire leaned down, lips a breath away from Steve's, hand coming to rest on the blonde's lean hip and eyes darkening a little. "Still want you, too."

Steve couldn't help a soft sigh at the words. "You're evil. Apparently I like that in a guy," he assured before closing the distance between them to kiss Tony. It was less tentative than their kisses the night before or even that morning. Against all odds, Tony seemed to really mean it, seemed to really want him despite it all. The implications of that, the thought of what he actually hadn't lost, left Steve's mind reeling. "Think maybe we can get you another science break tonight? I'm pretty sure it would be a rip off to get out of the hospital bed and then still have to sleep alone. At least a nap... maybe... a little extra time for us?"

Tony knew he should say no, knew that the only thing he should be doing in his bed was sleeping, and only as much as he absolutely had to. He also knew that he wasn't about to say no. "Yeah, definitely," Tony agreed. He grasped Steve's chin in his hand, looking into bright blue eyes and smiling. "Matter of fact, if I don't come home tonight, promise you'll come save me. I don't think long-term Fitz-Simmons exposure's good for anyone." He knew Steve probably wanted to spend as little time out where people could see him as possible; Tony also wasn't willing to let his lover hide himself in Tony's room all day long. Especially when Tony wasn't in it. He leaned in for another slow kiss, resisting the urge to use his hold on Steve's hip to pull the man into his lap. He was pretty sure he wouldn't have the self discipline at that point to behave.

Steve could happily have spent the rest of the day just like that, tangled up in Tony with the man's lips pressed to his own. He hadn't realized quite how badly he needed the quiet reassurance of knowing that Tony wanted him. "I should make you stay and work," he confessed somewhat breathlessly against Tony's lips. His fingers were already running through Tony's hair and stroking the back of his neck. Normally the whole thing would have been a bit much for him when they were sitting in a thoroughfare where anyone could pass by. Nothing about the previous few days had even vaguely approached normal, however, and Steve wasn’t about to give up the moment. "I think maybe we've earned some time to be selfish, though."

"End of the world can at least gimme eight hours a day of personal time," Tony decided between light kisses. He nuzzled at Steve's throat, running his fingers through the blonde's hair. It felt strange to have someone so delicate pressed against him and to know it was Steve. It was different, but someone smaller than him wasn't unfamiliar to Tony, and he still definitely wanted to do more than just make out. He knew Steve wouldn't allow it, though. "Besides, you have to make sure I take care of myself, remember?"

"Someone has to," Steve agreed. They were doing something entirely new. He was intensely grateful to be doing that thing with Tony by his side. He needed that sure, comforting familiarity to keep hold of himself. Steve let his gaze stray to the nearest clock on the wall and groaned, his arms tightening around Tony's neck. "I have to let you go soon." His voice dropped, and he leaned in to whisper the rest in Tony's ear, "If you still want to keep that promise from the other night... we can maybe see what we've got time for tonight." The situation had changed and so had the playing field, but Steve found himself hoping that Tony might still be up for trying something new.

Tony smiled broadly. He hadn't wanted to ask, hadn't wanted to push Steve into something he might find uncomfortable. The guy was already out if his element. He pulled Steve into another kiss, daring to pull the blonde fully into his lap for the moment. Drawing away, he purred, "Absolutely I want to keep it. I didn't heal up just to sit around and hold hands."

Steve breathed a sigh of relief and then climbed out of Tony's lap, holding his hands out. "I'll walk you to the lab." It would take all of three minutes, but that was three more minutes he got to spend holding hands with his lover. Besides, he couldn't keep hiding. He wanted to hide. He would have been infinitely more comfortable hiding. It just wouldn't help anything. If he was going to keep helping the team in the small ways he could, Steve needed to keep himself in the game. "I don't mind the holding hands part either, but... yeah, I kinda don't want to just hold hands." Being with Tony was too good to confine things to only the sweet and romantic even if it meant pushing himself away from what was comfortable. "We might just have to go a little slower than we would've otherwise is all."

"I can do slower. Promise," Tony said, smiling down at his lover. "Also... since we don't have time to go shopping, and since I figured you might not be feeling up to going to the mall, I had Jarvis find some stuff for you. Should be in our room by the time you get back." He didn't realize he'd verbally made his room into their room, continuing softly, "I, uh... your file said you had some eye problems, so there's glasses, too. Hopefully they're your style." He gave Steve's hand a gentle squeeze as they stepped into the elevator. It still felt weird, looking down to make eye contact. Tony was fairly used to having to actually look up ever so slightly to talk to the man. He gave the blonde a faint smile as the elevator slowed to a stop a few levels lower. "I think you'll look good in them."

Steve blushed at that. He'd never been able to afford glasses before despite needing them, and the thought of bothering hadn't even occurred to him. That it had to Tony was a gesture of attentive sweetness that he made a note to reward the man for later. "Thanks," he answered, stealing a kiss as the door opened. "I think this is your stop. I'll head up and make myself more presentable. You try not to convince Bruce to kill you." Steve put a hand up to stop the elevator doors from closing. "No serum talk, okay? That's... that's a talk I need to be part of too when and if the time comes. Loki's our problem right now." He waited until he got at least tacit agreement from Tony before letting the doors close behind the man.

Tony sighed longingly as he turned away from the door. "You three should be aware that I'm missing out on some amazing, acrobatic sex with Captain America while we poke this Ass-gardian mallet with a stick," he sulked, hands jammed in his pockets as he sauntered in, offering Fitz-Simmons a look that said he thought they were a waste of oxygen before giving Bruce a smile that suggested he had absolutely no sense of self-preservation. "Any leads, or were you guys waiting on me to start the party?"

"At the moment, we're going over some of the older tech from storage - well, the specs. Director Fury has opened up some absolutely fascinating files," Simmons explained with apparent glee. She was doing everything but clapping her hands with excitement. 

Fitz wasn't far behind. "A lot of it's vintage Hydra, and since the gun worked out so fantastically, we-"

"Fitz," Simmons hissed, her eyes widening and her gaze flicking to Tony and then back to him.

He blinked, obviously not understanding in the slightest what the problem was until she repeated the process. "Oh. Ohhh. I mean, well, the gun did what we intended is what I should have said," he hurriedly explained, his accent sounding thicker with the sudden discomfort as he tried to verbally recover. "Uh, it performed... I mean it... people aren't in cells anymore, yeah?"

Tony gave Fitz a long, hard stare. "Does your home country not want you back or something? That's the only reason I can find that you're still here." Without waiting for an answer, Tony fixed his gaze on Bruce, who was making a point of staying hunched over his computer. "Bruce-y..."

"Tony, don't."

"Bruce, buddy..."

Bruce tensed as Tony slid an arm around his shoulders and shook him companionably. "Tony, I don't think our new friends really want to meet the big guy in person, so - "

"Look, nothing about the serum until this is done. Promise. Scout's honor. Have the dunder twins figured out anything, or should I bring Dummy up here?"

Bruce sighed and pulled off his glasses. "We're trying to work out how to make the gun not kill the user. But apparently that hammer feeds off something inside it, and taking its... mojo from it means it has to feed off something else. Also means it's got a shelf life. And it means that any prototypes are out of the question until we can at least get a decent theoretical model that doesn't break down."

"The interns are just reading files, right?" Tony asked, jerking his thumb towards Fitz-Simmons.

Bruce rolled his eyes. "Tony, they can hear you."

Though Fitz shrunk back from the idea of another confrontation with Stark, Simmons' drew herself up to full height - not very impressive given that Steve would have towered over her even after the gun took its toll - and assured him, "Mr. Stark, we are fully qualified to be here. While we may lack some of the experience that you and Dr. Banner share, we graduated top of-"

It was Fitz' turn to look stricken and stare at her, both shocked and somewhat amazed-looking as Simmons seemed to finally think better of the tirade. He raised his eyebrows as she stopped and tried to fill in, "What she means to say is that we're working on it. Very hard. We're hoping that using some of the nano technology SHIELD has been working on, we could create something that will help with the fluctuating energy patterns, make something that's adaptable enough to keep it from being able to draw so much from the user, though that... well, it doesn't solve the problem of what it does draw from at that point."

Simmons offered an uncertain, somewhat apologetic smile "We're working on that too."

Bruce had to give the two credit. Especially Simmons. Still sitting behind Tony, he caught her eye and gave her a thumbs-up. Tony was an asshole, but he rarely attacked anyone once they stood up to him firmly. Then again, the billionaire was pretty good at hurting feelings when he felt compelled to do so. "We were thinking we could-"

Tony whirled, hands fiddling with a random gadget he'd snatched from a nearby workbench. "You think we could get it to run off an arc reactor?"

Bruce was on his feet, a look of terror in his eyes. "Absolutely not. Tony, that's - "

Tony was already looking at the two younger scientists. "Dumb and Dumber, I need you to get over your Harvard diplomas, or whatever it is, and dig up the arc reactor specs and find a way to hook it up to - "

"Tony." Bruce waited for the other man to face him. "We are not risking you, too. We can't keep sacrificing people."

"Well, I have trouble understanding the grunts and clicks, but I think the tiny one said she could reduce how much it sucks."

Simmons gave him a withering glare, but she couldn't resist the opening all the same. "I actually did say something like that. Well, that we're working on that, in any case. The timeline is tight, of course, but we'll need to do more testing before we could consider someone without an inherent healing factor using even a finished version of-"

"It could go really, really badly," Fitz agreed. 

"Right, yes, very badly without the proper testing, and earlier Director Fury did stop in to mention that if we were involved in decommissioning anymore of his team he would-"

"Have us killed."

"Probably by Agent Romanov."

"And we'd like to avoid that if at all possible."

Tony's gaze had been flicking back and forth between the two, and it finally rest on Bruce. "Is there seriously absolutely no alcohol whatsoever down here?"

Bruce shook his head, fighting to hide his smirk. "None."

Dark eyes moved back to the pair. "So you're building it for the knuckle-dragging savage with questionable allegiances? Bruce, when did SHIELD switch to off-brand geniuses?"

"Tony, you're being a dick," Bruce said as if he was politely telling the man he had lint on his shirt.

"I don't think I can handle you two," Tony muttered under his breath as if Fitz-Simmons couldn't hear him. He stared at them for a moment the same way he'd stare at an engineering problem. "Alright, fine. Still. Look at the arc reactor. Maybe you can figure it out and build one to go on the prototype. Just watch out for Romanov. Ever see Jurassic Park? She's like the raptor. Distracts you while Barton gets you sighted in."

Simmons' gaze narrowed as if she was trying to discern how much of it was screwing around and how much was a serious tactical discussion. Finally the brunette nodded slowly. "Right, then. Arc reactor it is." She honestly hoped that they might find a way around using Tony even if they used his machinery, but there was no need to tell him that. 

Fitz took the station next to hers, and the two of them started in, continually leaning over to tap something on one another's screens. "Jemma! That was- oh, you're right. I didn't carry the two."

After they'd all been hunched over working in relative silence for awhile, Simmons rose and stretched with a sigh. "Coffee run! Would anyone else like something?"

 

"A pot. All of it. Irish, preferably," Tony decided. He'd found a few of the snacks he'd hidden around the lab, munching on them, but his stomach still gurgled. "Go to the Coffee Cat on the corner. I want one of their raspberry krullers. Or five. Cream cheese, too," he added, still staring at his tablet. Tony clearly had no qualms about using the pair as interns, credentials or no. He'd have respect for them if they figured out the problem at hand. 

Bruce glanced up and smiled faintly. Fitz-Simmons were actually really good. He also knew Stark cared nothing for grades and degrees and everything about results. "I'll just have a mocha. Just however they normally make it is fine." He made sure Tony wasn't looking before he mouthed, "No Irish," on the off chance that Simmons thought it'd be a good idea to actually do what Tony said. 

The young woman smiled brightly in response and nodded her understanding. She was finding that she rather liked working alongside Dr. Banner despite his unusual reputation. He was interesting and a polite counterpoint to Stark's brasher, more grating personality. She was gone all of fifteen minutes. There wasn't a coffee shop in a three block area where she and Fitz weren't known. They spent a lot of long nights in the lab, which meant a lot of coffee runs. Eventually Director Fury had given in and made an expense account just for that. She returned the same bright smile, setting the haul down on a table. "I got a few extra muffins and things. I'm starving." 

"You're an angel. A goddess, maybe. Well, you would be if those things were real." Fitz snatched up a cup of coffee and one of the blueberry muffins before scurrying back to his station.

Tony dug into the take without so much as a thanks, but at least had the decency to remark that it tasted good around his mouthful of food and coffee. 

Bruce had a little more grace, thanking Simmons before taking a muffin along with his mocha. "How's the research going, anyway?" He asked, rolling his eyes as Tony made a dismissive sound at the idea of the two figuring anything out. Bruce leaned in and asked quietly, "You *did* figure out the reactor, right? How it works, I mean?" It was Tony's litmus test. If someone in their field couldn't figure that out with blueprints, there was a solid chance that Tony would smart-shame them until he was dead. And then come back to haunt them. 

It was Simmon's turn to snort. She waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, we'd done that ages ago. Back in school. We weren't able to make a prototype at the time because of limitations in terms of materials, but... honestly, it isn't that complicated once you see it laid out." 

Fitz nodded his agreement and managed around a mouthful of muffin, "It's beautiful because it's so simple." 

Simmons added, "It's honestly quite a thrill to be able to work so closely with the original blueprints. The ones we worked with before... well, of course, they weren't official. This is far more detailed." There was no sense of bravado in the words, as if it never occurred to either of them that someone might not be able to put together the puzzle of the arc reactor. She pulled the schematic up on the holographic board and gazed at it lovingly. "Beautiful."

Tony had missed the conversation, but not the projection of his work on the board. "Still trying to figure it out?" he asked, sounding almost irritable. The last thing he needed was to be stuck on this project with two bumbling- 

"They did in grad school, Tony. They were just admiring your work," Bruce responded before the two had to defend themselves again. Not that they seemed incapable of such, but without a decidedly thick skin, Tony was tiring. And they needed Fitz-Simmons not tired.

Tony's expression softened instantly, and he tilted his head at the pair thoughtfully. Using his heels to drag his rolling chair closer to the bunch, he got uncomfortably close to Simmons and stared hard at her. "There may be hope for you, after all," he decided. "When you rebuild the reactor, scale it up 22.2 percent. Use the old palladium core and increase the cycles by 12 percent. And make it a modular connection. In case I have to hook things up to the suit instead." The last thing he needed was another bout of palladium poisoning.

"Only twelve? I think we could push to at least fifteen," Simmons murmured, though she wasn't really waiting for an answer. She'd drifted away from Tony to chatter excitedly with Fitz, who started plugging numbers into a program with apparent glee. Tony was most certainly a jerk. Tony also happened to be a genius. He'd invented things that gave them both intellectual boners all through school, and working alongside him was- well, it was terrible, but it was still an honor of a sort. "Should have something by later tonight. Or morning. It may depend on how long some of the compounds take to stabilize. Then there's seeing if it actually interacts with the hammer, of course, if the-" Simmons cut herself off. "You know that." She turned back to the screen without another word.

Bruce watched the pair, a smile playing at his lips. He glanced at Tony as the man sipped at his coffee. "You realize, of course, you just made their day, right?" he asked quietly.

"I'm sure I'll get over the shock eventually," Tony deadpanned, prodding at a few more files on his tablet. "Looks like now all we have to do is wait."

"Mhm." Bruce grabbed another muffin and finished off his mocha.

"So, I'm not much of a chemist."

"Uh... huh." Bruce was still eating, but he looked a little wary now.

"I keep reading through the files, but I can't figure out the bits that you-"

"Tony." The syllables were controlled, quiet, and sharp all at once. It was rare that the man's name was all it took to shut him up, but Bruce had a way of making himself heard. Patient, dark eyes drifted up to Tony's face. "You said you wouldn't until this was done. Even though you already have my answer, I at least expect you to leave me alone until we're done with the whole Loki thing."

Tony opened his mouth, then shut it. Bruce wasn't going to budge. At least not right then. Tony was already hatching a way to make sure Steve was with him the next time they talked. He was hoping a sympathy angle might help.

"Mr. Stark?" Simmons honestly didn't want to bring the man's full energy and annoying oversight to their corner. She caught Fitz giving her a look that said clearly he thought she'd lost her mind. She'd read the lines of tension in Bruce's shoulders. After the man had been so kind to them, she couldn't bring herself to leave him at Tony's mercy when he was already in rare form. "Would you mind checking these equations? I think that this should speed the whole thing up a bit. Then coupling it all with this," she pulled up another screen on Fitz' computer that gave a good overview of the nanotechnology she was hoping to use.

 

"Later," Tony said quietly to Bruce before he moved over to look at the presented work. He poked, prodded, turned and twisted the displays. He adjusted a few minor things, tossed out a couple of unnecessary constructions, then nodded, his hand pensively toying with his beard as he looked the readout over. "Impressive," he allowed, looking at Fitz-Simmons. "Alright. You're useful. Good job." He opened his private folder and dumped a portion of one of the files into the stack already on the lab desktop. "This is part of the information on my nanosuit. Make sure that gun is compatible with it. Just in case we can't hand it to Logan." He scrutinized the two young scientists. "If you two can figure out the stuff in that file before the end of tomorrow, I might start to believe Fury didn't lose his mind when he dragged you into all this."

Bruce sighed, obviously out of patience as far as correcting Tony's lack of... everything. He was toying with biochemistry models, running simulations. "Tony..."

"Bruce?"

"I've been running some simulations. You're not going to like this."

"Well, you haven't said anything I've liked today. Why change now?"

"Even at the lowest output, this gun... If you have to use it, it'll kill you. You might be able to take Loki out with it, but you wouldn't be coming home." Before Tony could tout his stunt in New York or raise any other objections, Bruce gave him a level stare. "This isn't just you now, and you know it. Think of Steve. Think of how you felt when you thought you'd lost him. And think of how he'd feel."

While Fitz looked utterly uncomfortable thinking about Stark and Rogers together, but Simmons' expression softened. She could imagine all too well after seeing the aftermath of the whole thing. "Sir? We've got all the figures we need, and we'll all need to get a bit of rest tonight. If you wanted to check in on Captain Rogers... We all worry, Sir, is all," she explained, trying to make it sound as if they needed the information as much as Tony. "A bit of dinner, some rest, then we're all back in the game come the wee hours of the morning."

Tony looked up, honestly surprised by the offer. He glanced back at Bruce, who nodded. "Okay." Back to Simmons before he snapped at Bruce, "You can keep 'em. But food and water's your responsibility."

He didn't wait to see if someone would change their mind. Tony got back to his room as quickly as was dignified. Maybe even a little undignified, since he was sure he probably half-jogged when he thought no one was looking. He quickly ducked into his suite, eyes casting about for Steve. "Honey? I'm home," he called casually, though not immediately seeing Steve made him nervous. Considering all the health problems the man had, Tony couldn't help but think- //No, no don't start that. Jarvis would tell you immediately if something was wrong.//

At the sound of Tony's voice, Steve roused himself from a light nap. He rose from the bed with a smile and made his way into the living room with a smile on his face. "Hey, stranger. Sorry, kinda drifted off for awhile." He'd forgotten how intensely exhausting it was having a body that couldn't handle doing everything he really wanted to do. Catching the worry on Tony's face, Steve gave a shake of his head and moved in closer. "I'm fine. Just tired. Less tired now that I got some sleep. How about you? Need something to eat? I slept instead of eating dinner, so I could make us something."

"First..." Tony pulled Steve against him, burying his face in soft blonde hair and holding him tight. "This may be a little clingy, but I missed you." It had been hard enough being away from Steve when the man was nearly invincible. Knowing how vulnerable he was now, Tony hated being away from his lover for even a second. Tony finally made himself let go of the blonde and smiled down at him. "I've eaten. But I'd be willing to make you something."

"Yeah?" Steve nodded his agreement. "Just something light. I think we've got a lot more interesting things to do than eating." He'd intended for Tony to come home to the suite put to rights. Instead he'd managed some light housekeeping and then collapsed into bed. It was annoying. At the same time, Steve realized in hindsight that he was glad he'd put the bulk of his energy toward resting up for Tony's arrival instead. "If you aren't too tired. If you are, maybe I should be getting you to bed. Uh, in a totally sweet and caring way."

Tony pressed a decidedly non-sweet kiss to Steve's lips, drawing back to give him a smoldering look. "Definitely not tired," he breathed before smiling more casually and drawing away. "Something light... grilled cheese?"

"Perfection," Steve agreed, referring as much to the kiss as the dinner suggestion. He leaned against the counter while Tony cooked and savored the casual moment. They had precious few of them. "I'm glad they let you slip away for awhile. Not to be way too creepy and clingy, but I don't know if I could've done a whole night without seeing you. The potential for really great sex aside... well, I just kinda want to be with you right now."

Tony smiled as he opened a can of organic tomato bisque and put it on the stove to heat. "You say that like you're the only one who was writing 'Steve and Tony' over and over in the margins their research notes," he replied as he squashed the grilled cheese into the pan. He looked over his shoulder at Steve. "You think they'd notice if I snuck you in with me tomorrow?"

"I'm starting to feel like I don't care much if they do." The day spent by himself trying to navigate the person he thought he'd left behind had been frustrating at best. "Did you guys make any headway?" Steve couldn't imagine them letting Tony go without at least some progress under their belt.

Tony nodded. "The kids are working on some nanotech to help modulate the energy output on the gun. We're going to try putting an older model of the arc reactor on it for a power source and reduce the drain on the user. We think Logan might be able to wield it that way." Accustomed to running down technical specs, Tony took a breath to continue, then stopped himself. Steve didn't need to know that his backup plan involved dropping the output enough to use the gun himself. "So, yeah, we're making some headway." The sandwich done, he put it and a bowl of the soup down in front of Steve. "Ran out of smoked gouda, but there's still sharp cheddar, baby swiss, and provolone in there."

"You are honestly amazing. Thank you." Steve tucked into the meal with relish despite the fact that he hadn't thought he was that hungry before Tony started cooking. "Do you think Logan will be willing to take that thing on again?" It was one thing risking your life for a lover or a teammate and another thing going up against a god for more nebulous purposes. "Even taking into account the idea of revenge, it's dangerous."

Tony smiled. It was surprisingly rewarding to watch his lover devour the meal he'd made, simple as it was. He shrugged at Steve's question, hoping they could change the subject soon, before he got cornered into telling Steve Plan B. "Well, the gun already killed him once, and he didn't seem much worse for wear. Considering his personality, I think at this point he'd be more than willing to take one for the team. And the plan is to modify the old model to hurt a lot less." He was quiet for a moment. "Wish we could've had more time before. It might not have hurt you as badly if-"

Steve reached across the table at once and took Tony's hand. "Don't do that to yourself. I made the decision to go ahead, and I still think it was the right one. The serum gave me a lot of things. It saved my life more often than I can count and helped me get the tessaract away from Hydra, and it let me live long enough to get to meet you. Maybe I just reached the end of the line getting so much extra help."

Tony looked up, face still ridden with guilt. "Don't say that. We're going to get you back to..." He stopped himself before he said it: normal. Tony didn't care if Steve stayed as he was or went back to being a super soldier, but it wasn't hard to see that the man was frustrated by the limitations of his former self. Tony squeezed Steve's hand. "Look, don't give up just yet, alright? I'm going to find a way to at least get Bruce to talk about this like grown ups who don't break whole cities and see if there's something we can do. Until then, and also after then, I'm going to spoil the hell out if you," he said with a smirk.

"That sounds like a pretty good plan," Steve agreed. He let go of Tony's hand long enough to finish off his dinner then took point in cleaning the kitchen up. "Now,I think maybe we had done other plans before we make sure you get a good night's sleep." It was strange to feel tentative about approaching his lover for sex, but there it was. He sounds his arms carefully around Tony's waist and felt immediately more at ease close to the man.

"Yeah, we did," Tony said, hooking a finger under Steve's chin to urge him up into a kiss. It was just a peck on the lips, then another, then Tony lightly nibbled at the plush lower lip. He caught the soft flesh gently between his teeth and tugged before finally pressing his mouth fully to Steve's. Tony couldn't help but feel a little nervous. He was afraid he'd hurt Steve, push him too far. He realized suddenly that it must have been what his lover had gone through every time they'd had sex. //Shoe's on the other foot,// he reflected as his hands slowly tugged Steve's shirt upward, letting him run his hands over the blonde's lean back.

Steve let the action guide him and tried not to think about it too much. Tony wouldn't be doing anything if he didn't want to. Assuming otherwise did his lover an unforgivable disservice. The slow, sensual kisses helped to remind him that were was no rush and no pressure. Steve drew back just enough to see the uncertainty in Tony's eyes. "If anything is too much, I'll tell you. I trust you, Tony. I love you." Steve tangled his fingers in the man's dark hair and kissed him for all he was worth.

Tony groaned into the more passionate kiss. It didn't have the same crushing weight of need and restrained power that he was used to, but it felt amazing all the same. When they drew apart, Tony was panting faintly. "Bed... Gotta get into the bed," he decided breathlessly, half tugging Steve toward the bedroom. He broke away when they stepped through the door, tugging his shirt off and tossing it to the floor before he looked to his lover. He hadn't missed Steve's uncertainty a moment before, or his nervousness when he'd swapped shirts in front of Tony that morning. Tony settled on the edge of the bed, hands beside his hips and a surprisingly patient look on his face. "If you get nervous or anything, tell me. I don't want you uncomfortable," he said gently, though in truth he was anxious to have Steve naked and pressed against him.

"I haven't been naked in front of a whole lot of people like this. Just... just one. Doctors and stuff aside, I mean." There hadn't exactly been a rush of people wanting to see him stripped down before the serum. "It's a weird feeling, but that doesn't mean I don't want you. I always want you." Deciding to remember the advantages instead of the disadvantages of his size, Steve climbed into Tony's lap and kissed the man again.

Tony wrapped his arms around Steve and sighed into the contact. His hands moved over the lean body pressed against his own, but there was less of a disconnect with the kiss. The kiss was still Steve. Maybe not as forceful, but the movement, the tempo, the particular way Steve's tongue slid against his and the way he sighed at the touch were all very familiar. Tony's hands slide down over the blonde's ass, kneading lean flesh as he moaned against soft lips. "Need you," he murmured against Steve's mouth, his hips grinding up against his lover's.

"All yours," Steve agreed, his breath hitching as their hips found an enticing rhythm together. He held fast to Tony and let the feeling of his lover ground him in the moment. If Tony was still there and still holding him, surely there was nothing to worry about. Instead of recoiling, Tony seemed as eager as always, touching and grasping and kissing him back with his usual fervor. Steve's lips parted against Tony's, and ground himself down hard against the other man.

Tony's hands roamed Steve's body, exploring, refamiliarizing himself with his lover. The blonde was small, but he didn't feel as delicate as he looked. There was a sort of with resilience to him. It figured, really, considering that Steve would have likely pushed himself to the absolute limits of whatever body he was in. Pushing Steve over onto his back, Tony pressed himself against the blonde's side, his fingers trailing down Steve's chest, his stomach, finally tracing over his lover's cock as he watched Steve's face. "Love the way you look when you're turned on," he murmured, leaning in for a kiss. 

"Love the way you look all the time," Steve countered with a smirk. Feeling Tony hard and eager against him dissolved the last of his worries. Tony wanted him, was still turned on against all reason. It felt fantastic. He let out a sigh as their bodies melted together. He knew what Tony was feeling, that uncertainty, the desire not to push too far too fast. "I won't break." Steve rolled his hips to remind Tony just how turned on how was. "Promise."

"Fair enough," Tony admitted, leaning in to nip at Steve's neck. He had to remind himself to trust Steve to tell him if anything was too much. His hand stroked more firmly over Steve's cock as he started working his lover's neck. He nipped and then sucked at the spot right below Steve's ear, raising a hickey before he drew back with a faint smile. "You'll still be wearing that one in the morning." It was kind of a satisfying thought in spite of the reasons for it.

The idea was surprisingly enticing. Steve murmured his pleasure at the idea and bared his neck to Tony. "Maybe you should leave a couple more, then." He had no idea whether he'd be in his more vulnerable form forever or not, but if it was temporary, he wanted to take the opportunity to be marked as thoroughly as he could be. Eyes sparkling, Steve hooked a leg around Tony's thighs as if to discourage him from moving away. "Let's make sure everybody knows I'm taken."

Tony raised an eyebrow, intrigued. He never imagined that Captain America would not only tolerate him putting hickies on his neck, but actually ask for more. He didn't dwell on the surprise too much with his lover pressed close and his neck bared for more. "I like that idea. All mine," he murmured. Tony ran his tongue along the arc of Steve's slender neck, pausing to suck and bite at another spot of skin as his hand lightly teased his lover's cock. 

The suction and the feeling of Tony pressing into him were enough to leave Steve squirming beneath the other man. His cock pulsed in Tony's grip. He was lost in thoughts of how hot it was, the idea of walking around with a prominent reminder to anyone who cared to look of exactly who he belonged to. "Tony... that's... so good," he panted. "All yours." The fingers of one hand clutched at Tony's hair, and he used the other to blindly grope for the lube on the nightstand. He pressed it into Tony's hand. "Might need this."

Tony smirked as the lube was pushed into his hand. "Definitely," he agreed, but he took a moment to mark Steve a third time before he palmed some of the lube. Instead of going for more obvious targets, though, he first trailed slick fingers across Steve's chest, taking the time to gently - and then not-too-gently - pinch and tweak Steve's nipples. The blonde was obviously enjoying a little edge in his pleasure, and Tony was more than happy to provide it. He nipped at his lover's jaw as his hand trailed lower, slick fingers closing firmly around Steve's cock. Tony intended to keep his promise, but he planned to take his time on getting to it.

Steve had to remind himself to catch his breath. It was important to keep breathing. He drew the air in and then out again as he savored the sensation of Tony's lips on his skin. "Love you so much." He wanted absolutely nothing more than to stay in Tony's arms for the foreseeable future, but at least they had a night. They had some time for one another. Enough time that Tony apparently felt it was fine to tease. Steve couldn't help smiling despite that fact. "You're a tease, Stark. A horrible tease."

"Mostly because I can't help but watch Captain America look desperate and horny and like he's ready to beg me to fuck him," Tony breathed, chocolate brown eyes looking almost jet black as he gave Steve a wicked smirk. His fingers drifted lower, over Steve's balls, lightly teasing Steve's entrance. "Not easy, you know. I'm anxious to see you cum so hard you forget who you are..."

Steve gasped Tony's name and clutched at his lover's back. It was nice knowing that he wasn't likely to hurt the man because it was hard not to hold fast. He spread his legs wider to give Tony better access with no hint of his earlier hesitance. Being hesitant was categorically impossible with Tony Stark staring at him like he was the tastiest thing on the menu. "I don't think I'd say no to that... the last part there? That sounds pretty good."

Tony smiled devilishly as he slowly started working a finger into Steve's body. The lack of hesitance on his part was intoxicating. It was strange, seeing the seemingly straight-laced blonde so wanton. He leaned in for a long, deep kiss as his finger slowly worked into his lover's body, drawing back to pant for air a moment later. "Dear god, you're tight..." he breathed. "You're gonna feel so good..."

"I want to feel you," Steve groaned. He loved the look on Tony's face. That alone was worth the price of admission. Steve dragged the man down into another kiss. The heated embrace helped him to forget how odd it felt to be stretched open by Tony's finger. He shook off the tension and relaxed instead, opening himself up to the invasion. "Ready for more," he finally murmured against Tony's lips.

"Easy. Take it easy," Tony urged, taking a few more moments before he finally started working another finger in. Tony wanted to melt right then and there at the way Steve's body squeezed him so fucking perfectly. "J-just remember you won't heal... Fuck, you..." Tony took a deep breath, realizing he was shaking a little with the force of the arousal he was feeling. Watching Steve's lips part and his fair skin flush pink was enough to make Tony crazy.

Steve knew that his lover was right, but it felt too good. Just Tony's fingers prying him open was enough to leave Steve gasping, and he wanted more. He wanted to feel Tony's cock sliding inside him and wrap his legs around his lover's hips. "Sorry. Not trying to rush. Just... you feel so good," he groaned. He could see Tony losing patience with being slow and careful too, and that was some comfort. At the very least, Steve felt satisfied that Tony wouldn't tease any longer than he had to. "Promise I'll try to wait. Maybe if you started kissing me again, it would be distracting."

Tony smiled. "I like how you think," he decided, leaning in to press eager, almost sloppy kisses to Steve's mouth. His cock throbbed anxiously as he forced himself to be patient. He didn't want to hurt Steve, and he definitely wanted his lover to be up for more as soon as possible. All that required some serious patience, he reminded himself as he slowly worked in a third finger. Steve was unthinkably tight, and Tony groaned, his heart hammering in his chest as he contemplated how it would feel when he finally did get to slide home into the soft, tight heat.

"Is it weird," Steve murmured between hungry kisses, "that I... that I kind of like the idea of feeling it in the morning?" There had always been something odd about being unable to see by the end of the day what he'd been through whether it was sex or a battle. Steve was eager to wake and still see the florid marks on his neck and feel the twinge of discomfort that reminded him of what they'd done. "D-definitely don't want to forget this."

"You say that like we're only gonna do it once," Tony said with a smirk, his fingers still thrusting slowly inside his lover. "But I get it. And I kinda like that," he decided, drawing his fingers away. He shifted, kneeling between Steve's thighs as he slicked himself with more lube. He would have been inclined to prep Steve a little more, but between their mutual eagerness and the fact that Steve wanted to feel it a little the next day, Tony was at the end of his patience. Taking his cock in one hand and bracing the other beside Steve's chest, Tony leaned forward, kissing him gently before drawing back. Tony watched his lover's face closely as guided himself to Steve's waiting entrance; he didn't want to miss a thing.

Steve sucked in a breath and then let it out, relaxing as Tony slowly entered him. It was entrancing watching Tony's dark eyes flash. He was too caught up in how good it was to register the intensity of the insistent pressure. Steve kept focused on Tony. He watched his lover, felt the heat of his body above and inside him. Soon Steve couldn't stay quiet. Soft moans escaped him. His legs rose to wrap tightly around Tony's waist, clutching him close.

Tony felt a sharp thrill go through him at the sound of Steve's quiet moans. The feel of the blonde's slender legs wrapped tight around his waist and the look of sheer heaven on his lover's face was something Tony never wanted to forget. "Fuck, you're beautiful," he murmured, running a hand through soft strands of blonde as he started thrusting slowly. His breath came out in a hitched gasp. Steve was tighter than Tony could have imagined, squeezing Tony's cock perfectly as he moved. Tony moaned Steve's name, leaning in for a slow kiss as he moved.

It was intense feeling Tony inside him and intense having the man's soft lips pressed against his own. Whatever he'd expected falling into bed with Tony Stark, it had never been that he could feel so loved. Blindly he reached out and found one of Tony's hands, lacing their fingers tightly together. "We should've done this sooner," he murmured against Tony's lips. "You feel so good, baby..." 

 

"You do, too," Tony answered softly, amazed by how close the contact felt, how emotionally intimate it was. "Love you," he murmured, the words punctuated with a soft moan. Pushing a little deeper, he angled his hips, searching for that perfect spot inside his lover. He wanted to make Steve see stars.

Steve's breath caught when Tony found the perfect spot. His mouth went slack, and he held on a little tighter to his dark-haired lover. "Tony, that... oh, wow..." If it had felt good before, it felt amazing in that moment. 

The sight of Steve's face when he'd found his mark inside the man had been incredible in and of itself, and Tony made it a point to strike the spot again. Grinning wickedly at Steve's response, he decided, "Might just never let you top again, though. Seeing you squirm like this is too addictive." He was joking, of course; Tony was pretty sure that if Steve never fucked him again, he might actually lose his mind.

"You're a bad liar," Steve answered, stretching up to kiss Tony again as they found a rhythm that left him barely catching his breath before Tony's thrusts stole it away again. "You want me as badly as I want you." It still boggled his mind to think that Tony had chosen him, that after all the men and women he'd been with, Steve was the one who had ultimately caught his eye. "And never get hurt again. Don't think I can take all that pretending to behave myself around you." Steve rocked his hips upward to meet Tony's next thrust and let out a deep groan. Even though they were still keeping it slow, Steve could feel his release building closer with every rolling movement of Tony's body against his own.

"Pretty s-sure that if I do, the doc's just gonna... gonna have to stitch me back up... a few times," Tony replied, shuddering as pleasure slowly overwhelmed his ability to speak coherently. Steve moved against him perfectly, felt perfect inside and out. Unable to hold back anymore, Tony began thrusting more steadily, nipping and licking at Steve's throat, his collarbone, anything he could get his mouth on. As he felt his peak nearing, Tony rested his forehead on the sheets next to Steve's head, hooking his arms under Steve's shoulders as if to get more leverage.

Steve moaned his lover's name and lost all real sense of rhythm. With his legs trembling, Steve found himself relying on Tony to set the pace for them both. That was just fine, as it turned out, since Tony definitely knew what he was doing. "Tony, I'm... I..." Cock trapped between their bodies, Steve came so hard and so fast the he didn't even finish the warning before he was shaking and gasping.

Tony nearly lost his mind when Steve's already tight passage squeezed him as the blonde came. Tony's back arched as he followed his lover into orgasm, his hips slamming forward hard as he let out a raw cry of pleasure. There was no restraint, no reserve to the sound, nothing but unfettered pleasure. After a moment, Tony's muscles unclenched, and he sagged a little on shaking arms, looking down at his lover as sweat trailed down his face. "Jesus... Jesus, that was good..." he panted.

"Better than that," Steve agreed. He kissed Tony with all the love and desire he felt in that moment. "I really, really do love you." He loved a lot more than the fact that Tony was a spectacular lay, but it didn't exactly hurt his affections. Steve breathed deeply to remind himself to take in enough oxygen to keep his body functioning. "Lay down. We'll shower in a little bit, but right now, I want to take advantage of the fact that I can use you as a pillow without you losing all feeling in your extremities for once."

Tony grinned, relieved that Steve was handling the loss of the serum so well. Shifting off of his lover, he immediately tugged Steve along with him. "Love you, too, by the way," he said, settling into the sheets. "You... seriously, though. I don't think I remember having had an orgasm that intense. Then again, it could just be all the brain cells I just lost."

"You won't miss them. You've got plenty. You're the smartest guy in the room, and it doesn't even matter what room were talking about." Steve tucked himself in against Tony's side and made a pleased noise. "I was kind of worried we wouldn't fit together anymore," he confessed quietly, "that laying together and holding hands and kissing would feel wrong. Still just feels like us, though."

Tony smiled, tangling his fingers with Steve's and bringing the blonde's hand to his mouth for a kiss. "I was a little scared, too. I'm not anymore," he said, dark eyes fixed on bright blue. "You feel different, but you're still you. We're still us. You still drive me crazy, and I still love you," he said, meaning every word of it. He'd be lying to pretend that things hadn't changed a bit. But the important things hadn't. He leaned in to press his lips to Steve's for a long, slow kiss, drawing away and pressing their foreheads together. "You're totally worth the brain damage."

Steve couldn't help laughing between kisses. "You romantic fool you. And people act like you don't have any idea how to seduce a guy and keep him seduced." He was giddy with relief at the realization that they were still right for each other no matter how he looked or how his body had changed. "Maybe we should see about that shower now. Been awhile since we had time to do that together. Then we'll get you to sleep. Not a euphemism," he cautioned. "You need to get some rest if you're going to get up and be brilliant again in a few hours."

"I'm always brilliant. Even asleep," Tony countered, though he was already standing and offering a hand to Steve to tow them both to the bathroom. "Besides, I've stayed up for days straight to get things done. Pretty sure we could totally have sex all night and I'd be fine in the morning. And you can sleep in the corner in the lab. There's a cot and everything. Bruce has thrown me on it a few times." He paused. "That didn't sound right. I meant I passed out and he put me there. While I was asleep. And nothing else happened." The billionaire smirked. "I'm going to to stop digging now."

"Mmm hmm. You're more than deep enough." Steve stole a kiss while he started the water, "Besides, I know Bruce wouldn't sleep with you. He likes you too much to risk killing you. Most of the time." Tony knew how to push buttons better than anyone else in the entire world. If anyone could bring out the big guy during the course of normal conversation, it was Tony Stark. "Now get in here and get clean. Then you're sleeping. Whether I follow you to the lab like a puppy or not, we both need sleep first. I haven't gotten to fall asleep next to you in days. If you won't do it for you, do it for me."

"When you out it that way, it sounds much more appealing," Tony noted. He slid into the shower, tugging Steve along with him. He couldn't resist just holding the blonde under the hot spray for a long while before he finally made himself grab the shampoo and start washing Steve's hair. "I am definitely looking forward to waking up next to you. You're cuddly," Tony mumbled happily. Between the sex and the hot shower, he was starting to feel relaxed and sleepy. 

"So are you. Actually, I was thinking I should put out some kind of press release. Maybe it'll take the heat off of me when the press hears that the great and powerful Tony Stark cuddles." Steve grinned and grabbed some shampoo to return the favor washing Tony's hair. He was more excited about the sleep and cuddling than the getting clean, but they both definitely needed the shower. "Love your hair. I like it first thing in the morning, no gel or anything, just you. Always feels so good."

Tony smiled, nudging one of Steve's hands with his face as the man pushed him back under the shower spray to rinse his hair off. "I think you better hold off on that press release. People will think you're delirious. Or that you've finally snapped," he said with a chuckle. He pulled Steve back under the spray with him and kissed him hard, his hands sliding down the blonde's slender back. There was nothing erotic in the kiss; it was all emotion. "I love you, Steve Rogers. Scares me to death I nearly lost you. You're not allowed to pull anything like that again, serum or no." They both knew that if Steve did get the serum back and further got back into the field that there was zero chance that the man wouldn't risk his life again if the situation called for it. That didn't mean Tony couldn't have his fantasy. 

"Long as you return the favor," Steve murmured against Tony's lips. He couldn't resist kissing the man, couldn't resist edging Tony back against the tiled wall and pressing their bodies tightly together. "I love you so much, Tony. I don't ever want to lose you." The moment was heavy, but not unpleasant. It felt good to say what he felt and to make sure that Tony knew he was needed and wanted. "I can do without most of this stuff, all the hero bits and the costume and," he gestured vaguely down to himself, "but I can't do any of this without you."

Tony had sucked in a breath as the cold tile hit his back, but it was worth it to have his lover pressed so tightly against him. "Did it a long time before I came along," Tony reminded his lover gently, brushing their noses together before tugging at Steve's lower lip with his teeth. "But I'll do my best to stick around. Don't wanna miss out on anything," he assured quietly, his fingers trailing over his lover's flanks. "Can't make any promises, but I always find a way out, remember?"

"Bruce isn't always gonna be there to save you," Steve teased in return, kissing Tony slowly, softly, lingering there against him. Weariness from the day was starting to set in despite his nap, and Steve drew back and turned the water off before grabbing fluffy towels for the both of them. "C'mon, dry off and let's get in bed." It felt like heaven when they finally climbed into bed, curling up against each other. "This... this is exactly what I've been missing. God, so much." Steve lazily kissed Tony's shoulder and his neck.

Tony tugged at Steve as if to pull him closer, though there really wasn't a lot closer he could get. Instead, the billionaire settled for burrowing his face into his lover's damp hair, sighing happily at the closeness. "I didn't sleep," he said quietly, resting his chin on top of Steve's head. "When you were in the ICU. I mean, I know I stay up for days on end, but... Jesus, Steve, I couldn't even distract myself. I just... all I could do was think how badly I'd screwed up and how I might-" He swallowed, feeling himself tremble a little. "...lose you."

Steve closed his eyes and let the words wash over him. It hurt to think about. He'd been sure for a few moments that he was going to leave Tony and everyone else behind. He hadn't been sure, for the first time since he flew into the ocean, that he was going to make it. "I know, baby. I'm sorry, but it wasn't a screw up. You didn't do anything wrong, Tony. You did what was best for everybody. We saved three people that might've... I don't really want to think about what SHIELD would've done if we couldn't save them, actually. We fixed it, and that's pretty amazing. And I'm still right here. You're not the only one that always finds a way out."

Tony squeezed Steve a little tighter, then loosened his hold, still a little scared of hurting the blonde. "Yeah. Yeah, you are, and it feels good," he decided, trying to take his mind off the terror he'd felt when they'd trucked Steve's near-lifeless form past him in the cell block. He felt tears roll down his cheek, and he bit his lip, taking a deep breath. He smiled faintly as he stroked a hand over Steve's slender shoulder, down his arm. "You feel perfect against me."

Steve smiled until he reached up to touch Tony's face and felt the tears. "Hey, I'm here. I'm fine." He carefully kissed away the trails of tears and then Tony's lips. If he'd had a choice, he would have told Tony to stay there in bed with him for a week instead of working, but they both knew that wasn't an option. "We aren't losing this. It's too good, Tony. We shouldn't even both be here now in the same time and place. That has to mean something."

Tony wasn't the sort to believe in fate, but he wasn't going to argue with Steve. His lover was right about one thing: everything was okay right then. More or less. He stole another kiss and smiled. "I'll be alright. And if you ever tell anyone that I got leaky eyes, no sex for a week." He only kept a straight face for about three seconds before smirking wickedly at Steve. "Okay, so we both know that's bull. But nobody'd believe you, anyway."

"That is a very good point, actually." It was overwhelming to realize that the way they felt was mutual. Tony really was in love with him. It wasn't a dream or a joke. Steve lay his head down on the other man's chest to listen to the steady beat of Tony's heart. "Get some sleep. Maybe in the morning I'll let you get out of bed." It was almost laughable as threats went. Steve definitely wasn't in any position to physically stop Tony from doing anything. He felt relatively certain of his ability to keep the man in bed, however, if it really came down to it, and there wasn't any strength needed for the task. "Love you," he murmured, already drifting into sleep.

Tony smiled at the sleepy words, holding Steve tight as he drifted off. Tony struggled to stay awake as long as he could just to savor the feeling of his lover pressed close to him. He didn't last long, though, with Steve's soothing presence weighing against him, and he was out before he knew it.


	11. Back to Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the science team sciences things with varying degrees of success, and Plan B sounds terrible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's all plot, folks. Plotty plot plot.

Tony jerked awake, feeling a cold sweat wash over him. There was a moment of panic as he fought to remember where he was, and he calmed a little as he caught sight of Steve, still pressed against his chest, face gently illuminated by the arc reactor. Taking a deep breath, Tony grabbed his tablet as slowly as he could to avoid waking Steve and noted that it was an hour past when he'd set his alarm. Looking at his logs, he rolled his eyes when he noted Bruce had disabled the alarm. Smiling down at the man pressed against his chest, though, he decided that he'd be bringing Bruce and the Wonder Twins some breakfast and coffee in appreciation. 

"You're about to tell me you're getting up," Steve muttered against Tony's chest, "and I'm not entirely sure I approve." He wondered how many times they'd have to save the world before they earned a real breather. Steve shifted and blinked sleepily before he pushed himself into a sitting position. He was stiff from lying in the same position all night, but it had been well worth it. "Guess it wouldn't be very patriotic of me to tell you to stay in bed with me until lunchtime, huh?"

"Well, we all have our lapses," Tony decided, tugging Steve close for a gentle kiss. As he let go, he finally made himself sit up as well. "And apparently Bruce fiddled with Jarvis and changed my alarm to... hm... off, so either he's really sick of me, or he's feeling unpatriotic, too." Leaning in, he pressed his cheek to Steve's, sighing quietly as his hand trailed over his lover's slender chest and rested on his waist. "I don't wanna go. One of us is going to have to act like a grownup."

"That's really not any fun," Steve complained. Still he reluctantly pulled away. "Okay, go. Get yourself some breakfast and get back to work. Bruce deserves some good coffee for giving us extra time." //Especially after yesterday.// That went unsaid mostly because Steve didn't want to choose that moment to start a fight. He just wanted to enjoy his last couple seconds with Tony before the man schlepped off to the lab for the day and possibly longer. They'd used up their Get Out of Jail Free card, and he knew it. "I'll maybe stop in later if you guys aren't too busy." He didn't want to be a distraction, and it wouldn't be fair to sit around taking up space and focus when he couldn't contribute anything to the process except a lot of concerns.

Tony smiled and forced himself to get out of the bed, kissing Steve's forehead. Morning breath didn't worry him too much, but he was pretty sure that more lip-to-lip contact would result in him staying well past lunch. "Definitely grabbing them some food and coffee," he agreed, ruffling Steve's hair. "And you better. Come by, I mean. I think Fitz is freaked out by the fact that we're dating, and at the very least he needs to be subjected to me eye fucking you for a few minutes."

Steve laughed aloud at that and agreed at last. "You've got it. I'll bring you guys lunch, okay?" That would give the group a break and let him slip in without it being some kind of juvenile deal with him going to hang out with his boyfriend. "Now go and work before I start kissing you. We both know we're not gonna stop if it comes to that." As it was, his fingers itched to grab Tony and drag him back into bed.

"Alright, alright. Fine." Tony managed to find some mostly clean clothes to throw on and then took entirely too much time getting his hair put together before he struck out.

It was almost eight by the time he got to the lab, and he smiled at the others. "Someone tampered with my alarm," he said, setting the tray of food and beverages out. "I appreciate it."

Bruce pointed to Simmons. "Her idea. I just facilitated."

Tony raised an eyebrow at the two as he slid off his shades. "Thanks. Still. Any progress?"

"Not quite as much as we'd like. We've found a way to make it play nicely with the arc reactor, but at this point... at this point, there's still no chance of survival. It's a one shot that might hurt Loki but would certainly kill the user," Simmons grumbled. "Which, of course, with Logan is still temporary, but that's... well, it isn't exactly what we want to have happen." She sounded genuinely put out by the idea, but she brightened as she looked over the array of items available for breakfast. 

Fitz had beat her to the punch by seconds. "This is brilliant! Thank you, sir. Oh, this coffee is magic," he groaned, already taking his hoard back to the computer.

Simmons lingered a bit, selecting a cup and a muffin with a bright smile. "I hope the extra, er, rest helped."

Tony smirked, trading knowing glances with her and Bruce. "It did, quite a bit. Might even say I feel inspired," he said, dragging up the specs on the gun and frowning at them as he munched a lemon tart. "There's gotta be a way to turn down the volume and still kill Thor's shithead brother."

Bruce sighed. "We're still working on it. But we don't have forever. The second Loki sticks his head up, Fury's gonna want us to try and chop it off."

Tony nodded absently. "You ever wonder if there's a real serpent of Midgard? Because that sounds pretty damn terrifying."

"It would be amazing!" Fitz exclaimed only to quail slightly at the looks the other three fixed on him. "Scientifically, I mean. It would be... it would be fascinating scientifically." 

"I'm sure we'll find something to make this work more safely," Simmons assured the group in general as if they weren't all working on the same problem. "We just have to keep looking. With all of the tech we have at our disposal between the Stark archives and SHIELD... well, if anyone can find the answer, we can."

"Hey, I made my own element. One of these days, I'll even name it. Maybe Starkonium," Tony muttered, poring over some diagrams. He sighed and raked a hand through his hair. "And, you know, enough monkeys, enough typewriters, enough time... but time's the thing."

Bruce shook his head. Tony wasn't really in the conversation, just thinking aloud. It scared him to think that Tony was designing the gun for his own use. He had to reassure himself that Logan would be willing to use it and that it would actually work. 

Simmons was beginning to realize that Tony was only dimly hearing the things that they were saying and looked to Bruce. She didn't like the line of worry between his brows. She tilted her head, silently questioning, but received nothing more than a head shake in return. The longer they worked, the more she was beginning to wonder exactly what they were really doing. Stark was too intense, too intent, and Simmons had the sinking feeling that he wasn't working for Logan, he was working for himself. Unable to keep quiet, she ventured, "Maybe we should bring Logan in this afternoon, tell him what we've been working on, give him some time to think about it."

Tony was silent until Bruce nudged him. "Huh? Mm. Yeah. That'd be a good idea." He looked up at Simmons. "So you're smart enough to figure it all out. Look, I'm not planning to take one for the team, but if Logan doesn't want to or something just doesn't work out, we need a backup plan. We've gotta be ready next time Loki turns up. Like, *really* ready."

Simmons frowned, but she couldn't disagree. Tony was right. If they weren't willing to give everything they had to save Earth from Loki's crazy schemes, no one would be. Her slight shoulders sagged, and she nodded. "Right. Yes. Right. We just work faster, then," she determined, squaring her shoulders again and raising her chin with the faintest hint of a smile. "I hope you'll forgive me, but I'm not explaining to Captain Rogers why I let his boyfriend use an unstable, untested weapon when we had a better option." She nudged Fitz and flashed him a real smile. "Let's make a better option."

Tony smiled faintly. He knew that kind of determination, and he was starting to feel a modicum of respect for Simmons. He wasn't one hundred percent sure that they'd succeed, but he was starting to feel better about their chances. Digging into his work, he started running through the information Fury had released on the Hydra weapons, praying that the man had given them everything he had.

Eventually, Bruce reached over and nudged Tony. "I think it's time for food." He smirked at the negating grunt he got from Tony. "Either you text Steve and tell him we need food, or I'm going to be forced to put my hand in your butt pocket to get your phone and do it for you."

Being reminded that he'd be getting Steve with lunch served to motivate Tony significantly, and he grabbed for his phone with a smirk. FOOD? I'LL EAT ANYTHING. JUST KEEP IN MIND THERE'S AN AUDIENCE DOWN HERE.

NO NUDE SUSHI. GOT IT. 

Steve had been exposed to the idea of that through Tony himself, so he hoped the man would appreciate the joke. He made his way down to the corner to get a decent selection of chips and sandwiches from the deli. Steve did his best not to look ridiculous or winded as he carried the haul plus two bottles of soda into the Tower. He was absolutely and categorically not going to be bested by a lunch order. Steve was winded by the time he reached the lab but still smiled happily at the sight of Tony standing by a computer doing his thing. The man never failed to look in charge of everything when he was working in the lab. "Lunch is served."

Simmons beat Fitz to the punch by seconds. "You are fantastic. I'm starving," she assured Steve with a blinding smile before selecting a half sandwich and a bag of sour cream and onion chips from the pile.

"The nude sushi would've been completely fine. But if you'll lay down over here," Tony pointed to a nearby work table, "I can make do with chips and a sandwich. I'm good at improvising."

Bruce couldn't help a faint snicker at that as he helped himself, grabbing a couple of sandwiches for himself and retreating to a corner.

Tony made sure he got between Fitz and the food and grabbed hold of Steve for a hug and an appreciative kiss before grabbing his own. "Thanks, beautiful," he said with a grin. More quietly, he asked, "You okay?"

"Yeah. It's kind of disappointing that I get winded carrying lunch in," Steve sighed. He wanted to be able to do it all, but it seemed he'd have to get used to being able to do a bare minimum at least for awhile. "But, hey, building that muscle back up." He rolled his eyes and grabbed himself some food before settling into a seat next to Tony. He shared a smile and a quick kiss with his lover before addressing the group more widely. "You guys having any luck?"

"Um, some," Simmons agreed, still blushing from the kiss. There was something about the idea of Captain America and Iron Man dating that was adorable and uncomfortable all rolled up into one. "We've made... tentative advances. We're hoping to ask Logan down to help us look some things over this afternoon."

Bruce briefly considered adding that Tony was plan B, but refrained. That was between him and Steve to discuss. If Tony told him. But Tony wouldn't. Bruce sighed. //Sometimes there’s no upside to restraint.// "Tony's not going to tell you, but he's going to be the backup if Logan can't or won't use the gun," he said.

Tony gave Bruce his most reproachful stare. "I'm putting laxative in the next coffee I bring you."

"Doesn't work if you warn me, first."

Steve stared at Tony like he'd lost his mind. He was fairly certain that Tony must have lost his mind to even be considering that as a plan. "That's not... that is not the back up plan," he stated as clearly as possible, trying his damndest not to sound panicked even if he felt it. "Tony, I barely lived through using that thing, and even with modifications... you couldn't do it. Not and... You killing yourself for a potential shot at maybe taking out Loki isn't an option."

 

Tony was positively trying to kill Bruce with his mind as Steve protested, obviously starting to panic. //I will kill him.// Tony put his arm around his lover and pulled him into a hard kiss, to hell with everyone's discomfort. "Babe, look... it's like the backup for the backup. The plan is to make sure Logan does this. Or that we find a way to make this thing not kill people. One or the other. Or both."

"Both is good," Steve answered, taking a shaky breath. He hated looking like a mess in front of everyone in the lab, but the fact was that the very idea of something happening to Tony terrified him. They'd come too close when he used the gun. As it turned out, gambling with Tony's life was a lot more terrifying than gambling with his own. He allowed himself a moment to hold Tony close and be reassured by his presence before sighing and sending an apologetic look to the other scientists. They were all doing their best not to stare and mostly failing. "Bruce, tell me you can make this work."

"I'll do my best," was the best Bruce could offer. It was said in a way that made it clear he was going to stay up a week straight if he had to. 

Tony gestured to Fitz-Simmons, "They're on it, too. And Simmons is pretty smart," he added. 

Bruce rolled his eyes. Leave it to Tony to troll people even in that moment. Speaking of uncomfortable... Bruce cleared his throat. "Uh, Tony, have you and the good Captain considered investing in some concealer?" He was pretty sure that Steve hadn't bitten himself shaving that morning. Four times. 

Steve blushed furiously and rubbed at his neck. He'd looked at the marks wistfully while shaving, but the idea of covering them up really hadn't crossed his mind. For one, he wasn't bothered by them. For another he wouldn't have known where to start trying even if he'd wanted to. The only times he'd worn make up, it had been applied by harried-looking women before he was shoved onstage. 

Simmons swatted at Bruce's arm and gave him a look she usually only reserved for Fitz's more awkward social gaffes. "You're terrible," she informed him tartly before offering a bright smile to the pair. "You shouldn't worry about it. I think that near death experiences certainly excuse a few marks here and there."

Steve groaned and covered his face with his hand.

Tony actually laughed at that, and Bruce joined in. "Simmons," Tony decided, "I like you. And I'll tolerate the growth," he gestured at Fitz, "for your sake." Tugging Steve closer, he pecked a kiss to one of the hickies and then held him tight."They look great on you. Don't let Bruce get to you. He's an old fuddy-duddy."

 

While Fitz looked openly offended, Simmons beamed her pleasure. She passed her counterpart a smug smile and went back to eating her sandwich. 

Bruce smirked, crossing his arms over his chest. The two of them were adorable, hickies and near-death experiences - figurative and literal - and all. It was weirdly satisfying to see Tony happy. "You should see me on bingo night. I'm unstoppable."

Steve recovered somewhat, mostly because he was starving. He ate in silence until he felt like he was less beet red and then ventured quietly to Tony, "Y'know we will be talking about this later, right?" He smiled in spite of the words, hopeful that he could talk Tony down from the ledge of even considering using the weapon. "Meanwhile, though," Steve continued more loudly, "it's nice to see you guys are getting along so well."

"By which you mean it's nice I haven't been force-fed a tranquilizer sandwich by Fitz?" Bruce asked, though his usual sphinx-like smirk played at his lips.

Tony chimed in, "Hey, I haven't said one word about-"

"And we'll keep it that way," Bruce decided, putting a chip in his mouth and going back to his work.

Tony sighed a little then looked back to Steve. "Yeah... yeah, we can talk about it," he agreed, though every fiber of his being was screaming for him to avoid the topic however he could. //Being a grown-up sucks,// he decided, stuffing another bite of sandwich in his mouth. Years of fixating on projects had taught him to ram his food down as fast as humanly possible, and even when he had time it was hard to remember to eat like a normal person. "Meantime, you are gonna sit in my lap until I'm done for the day, right?"

"Not a chance," Steve answered evenly, though he leaned in to whisper in Tony's ear, "But if you get some real work done, I might be persuaded to do a lot more than sit when you get home." 

It didn't take a genius to see from the look on Tony's face that whatever Steve said had been something entirely less than appropriate - and possibly very motivational. Simmons averted her gaze pointedly and ended up sharing a smile with Bruce. "I rather think we'll all need a lavish tropical vacation when this is over. Agent Coulson said that Tahiti is nice."

Bruce tilted his head thoughtfully. "Sounds magical. I could stand to get away for a minute," Bruce decided, trying to ignore the eyefucking going on a few feet away. 

Tony leaned in and nipped at the spot behind Steve's ear that he knew could make the man squirm with a little more insistent pressure before he drew back. "I'll hold you to that," he said, his voice deeper than it had been a moment before as he gave Steve a decidedly hungry look. He pressed a much more chaste kiss to Steve's lips, then pressed their foreheads together and sighed. "Alright. Fine. But I guess if I'm going to get anything done, you're going to have to not be so distracting."

Steve sighed his reluctance at the idea but finally pushed himself away from Tony and the bench. "Alright, guys, back to work. I'll see you," he added with a smile for Tony alone, "later." It was hard to walk away, but they had important things to work on. Tony couldn't stand to be distracted and still do what he needed to do to make sure that everything came out alright. 

Tony couldn't resist giving Steve a sharp smack on the ass as his lover walked past, returning Steve's glare with a leer before he turned back to his work. 

The pair of them were impossibly cute, and Simmons shook her head at the lingering parting. "We could do with a big of magic," she agreed quietly to Bruce as they all got back on task.

They stayed focused and relatively quiet until Logan finally came by in response to a text from Bruce. They all presented the situation to him, then Tony gave him a hopeful look. 

Logan crossed his arms over his chest, looking reluctant. He finally nodded slowly, though. "Yeah. I think I'm about all you have that can deal with it." He glanced at Bruce. "Just about."

Bruce shook his head. "I can keep some hold on the big guy, but I don't know I'd necessarily trust him with anything more delicate than a club."

Logan nodded. "Fair enough. You pencil necks come up with somethin' I can use, and I'll help."

"Brilliant!" Simmons exclaimed with obvious excitement. It was a relief to hear that they were taking a firm step away from the idea of Tony wielding the weapon. "We're trying to find a way to mitigate the effects. That way even if you're the one wielding it... well, maybe you can get more than one shot it. We hate to put all our eggs in one basket, so to speak."

Fitz muttered, "Too strong last time, obviously." He tapped at a few keys on the keyboard before raising his gaze to make actual eye contact, "We're hoping with the modifications you could make two, even three shots before you were, er, incapacitated."

"Good," Logan said with a nod. "Can't say I wouldn't prefer bein' able to just stab that little bastard in the eye, but this'll make me feel better, one way or the other."

"Because violence is always the answer," Bruce dead panned. 

Logan smirked at the scientist. "It is if I'm the one you ask," he countered easily. 

"Alright, good," Tony said, then looked up at Fitz-Simmons. "Still want you two to make sure it works with my suit - preferably without the dying side effects - just in case."

Even Logan gave Tony a look that said he thought the man was crazy. "Uh, if I don't work out, pretty sure we should just regroup and-"

"Logan, we only get so many chances to regroup before Loki takes over the world and turns us into his personal ant farm. Much as I'd like to not be dead, I have to be as ready to put it on the line as the rest of you." He glanced at Bruce, "Rage-inspired invincibility and healing powers or not."

Though she couldn't exactly disagree with the words, it hurt to think of. Simmons ducked her head and pretended to be typing something. Being with SHIELD was different than she'd thought in so many ways. The technology was fantastic, and so were the opportunities. The potential to watch people she liked die was simply a lot higher than what she was comfortable with. "We'll find something that works," she assured softly. "I don't think I'd like to be the one to tell Captain Rogers we don't have a better option."

Fitz nodded his somber agreement with that. Even without the serum, he had the distinct impression that Steve Rogers could find a way to hurt them rather badly if it came down to it. "Sir, do you think we might have one of the suits to work with directly? That might make working out some of the interactions a bit less... theoretical."

"You just wanna get your hands in my suit," Tony replied casually. "And the one you're adapting the gun to is, well..." Standing up, he took a second to rearrange his thoughts. The neuro interface was still taking some getting used to. Suddenly, red and gold seemed to erupt from around the arc reactor, quickly encasing Tony in the familiar suit. "It's a little attached," he said as the faceplate slid back, "but we can do this as long as I can keep a hand free to work and the two of you don't get too irritating."

Logan actually look halfway impressed. "And people think metal claws coming outta your hands is weird."

Bruce smirked as he poked at his tablet. Tony never could resist a chance to show off. 

Simmons only barely contained the urge to squeal with delight at the sight of the suit. She stepped in closer and then stayed her hands. Even her urge to explore was tampered by the reminder that there was a person in the suit who might not appreciate being groped - at least not by her. "Right. Yes, well, the simulations should do just fine until... well, hopefully permanently." Though her smile faltered briefly, Simmons found it again soon enough.

Fitz paced around Tony, memorizing specs and tapping notes into a pad in his hand. "There are so many variables," he muttered, obviously frustrated at the multiple trains of thought moving through his head. Realizing it sounded rather bleak, he cleared his throat and met Tony's gaze with a quick, forced smile. "Not that we can't handle all the variables because we can. All of them."

Tony heaved a long-suffering sigh and rolled his eyes. "Magnets won't erase my hard drive. Or the rest of me. And speaking of self-healing, I need someone with bio-whosit knowledge to figure out a way to make sure these nanobots can put me back together in the event of an accident or me being forced to play with guns that want to kill me. Bruce?"

"Tony, I'm not sure we should - "

"Fine. Fitz? Wanna show up the old guys? Figure out a way for these things to patch me up. Or at least make them so they can help me in the case of a severe trauma. I've already got an AED built in in case my heart stops after the whole New York thing, but..." He gestured vaguely. Holding out his hand, a small ball of red and gold congealed from the main body of the suit in his palm. "Here." He handed Fitz the sphere. "Nanobot sample. And I swear to god, if you put anything you learn from that into SHIELD's archives, I will give you a wedgie that makes your high school years seem like a walk in the park." For all his seemingly random bluster, Tony was starting to get an idea. If Fitz was actually as smart as everyone claimed, if he could make the nanobots capable of stopping him from bleeding to death, then he might just be able to help Steve with or without Bruce's help.

"Course I can do that," Fitz blustered as if it was the most obvious thing he'd ever said. He ignored the look that Simmons was giving him. He was too busy staring at the gorgeous ball of metal in his palms and thinking about everything he could do with it. 

Simmons could see the wheels turning, and she cautioned firmly, "Focus. First the healing." Her voice dropped, and she murmured, "Then we'll see what else we have time for before he remembers we've got this." If they were successful, the whole thing could be wrapped up quickly and then, with even more luck, Steve would keep Tony distracted so that they could keep right on working on slightly less above board projects. More loudly, she said, "Thank you! This should be a great help."

 

Tony raised a skeptical eyebrow at the two. Bravado wasn't going to win him over\\. With a deep breath, he managed to concentrate and pull the suit back in, going back to jeans and t-shirt. He grimaced and flexed his mouth. "Tastes like metal fillings," he murmured.

"Thought you said it ain't metal," Logan said.

"Don't you have some furniture to shed on?"

"Don't make me separate you two," Bruce called from the corner.

"Rather just separate him from his head," Logan groused, looking back toward Fitz-Simmons, already engrossed in their work. "But I think I'll work out instead. Unless you nutjobs need me for somethin' else?"

"We're good," Bruce assured, smirking to himself.

"Right."

"Don't let the door hit you on the way out. It's a nice door," Tony said, already becoming engrossed in his tablet again.


	12. One More Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tony and Steve have some fun and take comfort in each other between bouts of science.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here be plot and smut. Have I mentioned lately how much I love Tony & Steve?

Well into the night, Bruce finally nudged Tony with a stylus. "Hey. It's after ten. Go get some rest," he said.

"Don't need sleep. Need to figure this out."

Bruce dropped and gentled his voice. "Steve needs you."

 

Tony seemed to come out of his usual creative haze at that. He'd almost forgotten Steve in a sense. With more urgency than Bruce knew he possessed, the billionaire pushed himself up and took off.

He wasn't even sure Steve would be awake so late, considering how easily he tired out, so Tony stepped into his suite quietly. Finding his lover already in bed, he settled lightly on the edge of it and watched Steve sleeping for awhile. He was as beautiful asleep as awake, perhaps moreso. Asleep, he wasn't wearing his usual look of worry and doubt. Tony stood, stripping down to his boxers before quietly sliding into the bed beside his lover, trying his best to keep from waking the blonde.

The shifting of the bed woke Steve almost immediately - at least to a groggy, half conscious state - and he rolled over at once, long, slender limbs tangling around Tony to hold him tightly. He was too close to sleep to start the conversations they needed to have, but he needed the closeness just the same. "Not g'nna lose you," Steve murmured against Tony's neck as he clung to the man like a lifeline. It felt warm and safe being near him. "Love you."

"Love you, too," Tony murmured, holding his lover tight. It hurt to think that he might have to make the sacrifice that meant leaving Steve behind. Steve needed him, and he needed Steve, and losing that was way more terrifying than getting killed.

Tony managed to drift off after an hour in which his mind ran through scenarios and specs and generally tried not to think too hard about the possibility of plan B having to be applied. He didn't really remember drifting off, but he woke easily enough. Steve had shifted onto his back in his sleep, and Tony had apparently followed him, leaving his arm draped across the blonde's chest. He pressed his lips to his lover's shoulder, watching him intently.

Steve shifted, smiling at the touch, and finally opened his eyes to see Tony staring sleepily back at him. "Morning," he murmured, shifting and stretching and then placing a hand over the arc reactor at the center of Tony's chest. "Remember when you promised me that this thing wasn't going to kill you? That it's saving your life? Remember that. The next time you fly off," Steve explained, his voice rough with sleep but the thoughts sharp in his head, "I won't be beside you. I need to know you aren't going in there with a live bomb strapped to your chest. I need to know as much as I ever can that you're going to come home to me, Tony."

"Steve," Tony said his lover's name gently, taking the hand from his chest and threading their fingers together. He pressed their foreheads together, looking into bright blue eyes. "Listen, I know I've taken a lot of crazy ass risks. But I thought about it yesterday, and... I can barely handle thinking about how much it'd hurt you if something happened to me. I'm not scared of dying, not that much. But I am scared of leaving you." He took a deep breath. "I don't plan to go into things with a bomb strapped to me, but... I seem to recall someone telling me that there's not always a way out. We can't keep letting Loki get away. He's eventually going to succeed and then it's a lot bigger than you, me, or even SHIELD. I'm going to do everything I can to make sure that the whole team comes back, but if I have to, Steve, I'm gonna lay down on that wire."

Steve hadn't felt so pained and proud at the same time since the first glimpse he got of Bucky in uniform. The moment carried the same bittersweet notes, and Steve sighed, resigned. "Okay. Yeah, I... You sure you can't just be the rich, egotistical jerk everybody thinks you are? Because that would be good sometimes. I've got a bad heart, y'know." Steve didn't mean a word of it, and he knew Tony was well aware. Instead he kissed the man soundly, morning breath be damned. "Okay. I'm behind you. I'm also going to be praying like hell that we don't come within a million miles of needing you to back Logan up on this."

Tony opened his mouth to assure Steve that that wouldn't happen, but he bit it back. //No making promises you may not be able to keep,// he told himself. He pulled Steve in for another intense kiss. "I'll try to up my asshole playboy schtick when this is all over. You'll love it," he assured, smirking faintly. He pulled Steve as close to him as he feasibly could, tangling their legs together. "I don't wanna go do lab things. Or be a grown-up. Can I call in immature?"

"See, now you're putting me in the position of telling you no because it's the right thing to do. You're evil," Steve pointed out, visibly disgruntled as they tangled together. "You're lucky I apparently have a thing for evil. Yes, you should go and do lab things and make science and not kill Fitz-Simmons because I think Phil wouldn't appreciate that." He kissed Tony's shoulder, "But can you maybe do it in five minutes or something? I want a few minutes to cuddle you before you go shower."

"I think it might take me at least a half hour to eat breakfast," Tony decided, running his fingers through Steve's hair and clearly not intending to get up anytime in the immediate future. He would have been reluctant to get up at any rate, but the possibility that he might very well be going into a true shitstorm in the next few days with no assurance of survival made it damned near impossible to resist the chance to steal every last second with Steve that he could. "And I promise not to kill Fitz-Simmons. I might completely destroy their sense of self worth, but that's another story."

"Maybe only part of their sense of self worth?" he suggested with a smile. "They are helping, and Simmons was the only one who didn't look at me like I was a cheap hooker for having a few hickeys." Steve trailed his fingers over Tony's chest idly. "Not that I mind, exactly. I like them. I like... I like them seeing the marks and knowing that I'm yours." It was old fashioned or possibly not politically correct, but Steve didn't much care. His only concern was that Tony knew exactly how he felt. "I like being yours."

Tony smiled warmly at Steve, his fingers still carding through his lover's hair as he pressed their foreheads together. "I think I like it, too," he said, pressing a kiss to Steve's lips. He was a little surprised by how much the blonde was into the idea of possession, but he couldn't deny that it was hot. "And they look good on you. The hickeys. I like seeing them, too." He smirked faintly. "I think they're just trying to get used to the idea that you may not actually be a boy scout."

"Yeah, I guess that takes some getting used to. It's funny to me sometimes. I know the PR machine... it was all pretty squeaky clean, and I try to be a good guy, don't get me wrong, but I've never been what everybody thinks I am." Steve shrugged at the idea. He knew that helping people was too deeply entrenched in him to do anything else. "The calm, normal life wasn't ever an option. I wish it had been. Anyway, the more people get to know me, the more they're gonna notice. Might as well show 'em with hickeys."

 

"I agree," Tony said, pressing another kiss to Steve's lips, then down his jawline. "In fact," he said between kisses, "I think you could use a few more." Before Steve could protest, Tony was sucking and biting at a spot on his lover's neck, just below the jawline. Tony knew he really should have been getting ready to go to the lab, but he was pretty damn sure that the simulations they'd set up the night before could run themselves for awhile longer. That, and the fact that Bruce would probably have Jarvis harass him out of his room if they really needed him.

Steve lost the thread of worrying about getting Tony to work immediately. He forgot almost everything, including his own middle name as Tony worked at the sensitive skin and pressed tightly against him. "Maybe... maybe longer than five minutes," he panted, wrapping his legs around Tony to prevent the man getting any ideas about moving away. Already he was half hard against his lover's thigh. "Maybe we should take care of this first."

Tony felt the beginnings of Steve's arousal against him and smiled against the blonde's neck, his own pulse spiking at the catch in Steve's voice. "Definitely. I hear it's unhealthy not to," he said, his voice already thickening as Steve pressed in close against him. His hand slid down to lightly tease the blonde's thickening cock, and Tony couldn't help a soft whimper at the feel of it in his fingers. He pressed a soft kiss to Steve's lips, resting their foreheads together. "God, I love how easy it is to get you going... So hot."

"Yeah, well, you're a bad influence. Or a good one. I don't even care," Steve murmured as he rocked into Tony's grip. It wasn't that Steve hadn't always enjoyed sex, but being with Tony was something altogether different. He supposed it was the feeling behind everything and the way Tony made him feel like he could never quite catch his breath in the best of all possible ways. Smiling, Steve murmured, "Love you. Also, not to take away from the moment, but I'd like you to fuck me into the mattress."

Tony couldn't help the somewhat undignified whimper that slipped out of him at that last. "Fuck, Steve," he breathed, hand tangling in Steve's hair to jerk him into a rough kiss. "It's entirely too hot when you talk dirty," he decided, using his weight to more or less pin Steve to the bed. He nibbled at Steve's neck before starting to slowly kiss his way downward, nipping at the blonde's slender body before he slid his hands down to part his lover's ass cheeks. Tony's tongue was prodding lightly at Steve's entrance before the blonde could have a chance to figure out what was coming.

Shocked at the touch, Steve let out a gasp. He looked back over his shoulder at the man and felt a rush all over again at the thought that Tony was totally and exclusively his. "That... oh, that... don't stop," he murmured, obviously pleased to the point of being barely able to vocalize his thoughts at all. He could only think about Tony's clever tongue gently urging him open and about what would come next.

Tony wasn't about to. He slowly licked his way in deeper, tongue thrusting slowly into Steve's hole. His fingers kneaded the blonde's ass as he worked, and he became completely focused on the shift of Steve's hips, the incredible sounds of arousal he made as Tony worked him open. Tony’s fingers grazed lightly over Steve's balls, his cock, teasing without providing any relief as he focused on all the little shifts and motions that made Steve gasp. He wanted to see how much it would take to make his lover beg, and he was pretty sure that as long as Steve kept making those sounds of pleasure, Tony could wait as long as he needed to.

At first Steve was sure that Tony would stop any minute. He'd get some lube, and he'd give in, and they'd both leave happy. Instead Tony seemed to have gotten it into his head to drive Steve completely out of his mind. He twitched against the sheets, his cock dripping. Finally Steve reached for Tony's hair and grabbed at it. "S-stop, I... please, Tony, I want you inside me, please." The shaky, breathless words were lost in another gasp as Tony's tongue rolled inside of him again. "Please!"

Tony finally let Steve's hand draw him away, his tongue flicking over the drooling head of Steve's cock before he sat back. Recalling that Steve had seemed rather intrigued by the idea of feeling it later, Tony grabbed his lover's hips and roughly flipped him onto his stomach. His hand gently but firmly pressed into the middle of the blonde's slim lower back as Tony leaned forward, his cock in his free hand and pressing against Steve's entrance. “I’m going to make sure you can feel me for days.” For once he kept prep to a minimum, two fingers doing a quick job of scissoring Steve open and slicking his hole with lube. He pressed forward, moving slowly. Being a little rougher was one thing; hurting either one of them too much was another matter entirely.

The words spoken in such a dark growl had Steve gasping even before Tony started to fuck him open. Steve clutched at the sheets and rocked carefully back against his lover. "Tony, it... Tony..." There weren't any words, really, and Steve gave up trying to find them. He knew there was a distinct chance he'd regret what they were doing the next time he tried to sit down too fast, but he didn't care. "You feel so good," he finally panted.

Steve liked the roughness. Tony made a note of it, filed it away for future use. //Might have to repurpose some of that closet-full of ties,// he thought to himself as he slowly pushed forward. "You feel fucking amazing," he returned, his voice a gruff rasp as he leaned in to nip at Steve's ear. "Love the way you look squirming under me, begging me... Makes me so fucking hot," he growled.

Steve whimpered at the words and the harshness of Tony's voice. It was something he couldn't have enjoyed with anyone he cared for less, but he loved Tony. He implicitly trusted the man not only with his body but with his heart. A little rough sex didn't seem all that daring considering the things he would have let Tony to do him without missing a beat. "Fuck, Tony, you feel so big, so... so hard..." Steve was holding on by a thread already, and they'd just started. He took a few breaths to bring himself down. "K-keep it slow for me, baby, please. Need it to last."

Tony's breath caught at the dirty talk. It was nowhere near the raunchiest thing a lover had said to him, but hearing it come from Steve was enough to leave him struggling for control. Thankfully, Steve seemed to need a moment to get a grip too. "Yeah... God, yeah, I can.... I can do that," he murmured distractedly. He resorted to rocking his hips slowly, ever so gradually letting himself sink a little deeper into his lover's body with each shift. "Fucking love the way you sound when you're this turned on..."

That was good because Steve was way too far gone to think about what he was doing. He could only react to the feeling of Tony slowly edging into him and stretching him wider with every thrust. "Love... love everything... everything you do, everything," he managed at last. It wasn't quite the romantic declaration he might've preferred, but it was something. It was words strung together mostly coherently, which Steve thought was a miracle as Tony found his prostate on one of the deliciously slow, rocking pushes inside his body and ground against it. "Right... there..."

Even if Steve hadn't said anything, the way he writhed in the most tantalizing way possible made it clear that Tony had found that perfect angle, and he eagerly took advantage of that knowledge. Still doing his best to heed the blonde's earlier request to take it slow, Tony was careful to only angle his hips just that way with every few thrusts, enjoying the sight of Steve squirming under him entirely too much to end it too soon. He ran a hand through Steve's hair, loving the sounds of pleasure his lover made with every stroke of Tony's cock. "Fuck, you're beautiful," he breathed.

Steve wasn't sure he agreed, but he knew that Tony believed it. That was more than enough. He didn't bother trying to say anything, just moved time with Tony’s body. They didn't need to talk to enjoy each other. He didn't need Tony to talk to feel the way his hands were exploring and the way his hips caught as he tried to keep himself from moving too fast. Steve let his eyes close and paid attention to nothing but their increasingly sweaty bodies moving in perfect sync.

Tony slowly lost what little discipline he had, unable to resist thrusting faster and angling his hips to make sure each thrust hit the spot inside his lover that tore the most incredible whimpers and cries from Steve's lips. He watched Steve's unbelievably long lashes flutter against his cheeks, the way his perfect pink lips parted with each roll of Tony's hips. The sight combined with the way Steve's body gripped his cock like a vice was enough to drive Tony over the edge, and he cried out Steve's name as he found his release, hips pressed tight against the blonde's ass.

Steve had lost his resolve with Tony's building passion, and it only took him a few more seconds to follow Tony over the edge, his cock grinding into the sheets beneath him. They'd need to be changed in short order, but it was worth it. He sagged, boneless in the aftermath, and sighed, "You're amazing. Not that your ego needs the help, but... you're totally amazing." Steve wriggled enough to turn over underneath Tony so that he could kiss his lover's slack lips. 

 

Tony gulped in a couple more breaths before he returned the kiss, then sagged to the mattress next to Steve, keeping them tangled closely together. "Well, I couldn't do it without my biggest fan," he replied with a smirk that only lasted a second or two before he was forced to go back to trying to catch his breath. "And I have to say, you're pretty freaking amazing, yourself. I think I could get addicted to the way you look when you cum. More addicted. But I don't admit that I have a problem, so I'm completely not salvageable."

"I don't think that's how it works, Tony," Steve answered, though he only sounded about vaguely worried. "There are worse things to be addicted to - from my point of view, anyway. It sounds like it would kind of work out for me." He began carding his fingers through dark, sweaty hair. "Sounds silly, but I like your hair. It's soft." Steve continued to idly toy with it, running bits that were curling between his fingers and enjoying the texture and the shape. "This is the part where we have to remember you actually have work to do, isn't it?"

"Shhh... someone's petting me, and you're killing the magic," Tony murmured, dark eyes almost completely closed as he enjoyed the touch. He loved having his hair played with in ways that he was hard-put to articulate, and he would have been pretty damn happy to stay there until Steve got tired of it. After a moment, Tony relented with a sigh, opening his eyes and leaning in for a quick kiss. "And, yeah... gotta get back to work. He kissed Steve one more time before he slid out of the bed reluctantly. He went through his morning routine - throwing in a shower for good measure - then slouched back into the bedroom in a t-shirt, sneakers, and jeans. He held out a hand and gave Steve a smile. "Kiss goodbye?"

Steve gave the man a lingering kiss and then forced himself to draw back. "That's it. If I do more than that, you're not leaving." Being sore wasn't doing much to keep Steve from wanting to get thrown down and fucked on the kitchen table. He let his fingers slide through Tony's damp hair briefly. "I love you. Whatever happens and however this all turns out, I love you." 

 

"Love you, too, beautiful," Tony said. Never one to leave a limitation unbroken, he dragged Steve into another slow kiss, holding him tight as he backed his way to the door, letting him go at the threshold. "Keep it warm for me, Capsicle. And bring us lunch. If you don't mind." He knew it had been a stretch for Steve to do it the day before, but he also knew that Steve would have slugged him if he'd thought of treating him any differently for it.

Tony's mind was still firmly in his suite with Steve when he got to the lab, and he barely said anything to anyone for several minutes as he settled into his desk. When Bruce cleared his throat at him, Tony looked up sharply. "Oh, uh... Anything new, kids?"

"The nanobots are coming along," Fitz proclaimed proudly. He sent his results to Tony's screen and looked unreasonably proud of the work. "I don't know how far they'll go yet in terms of repairs, but they're enough to keep you in a fight longer than you should be able to stay in one." The gun was a larger issue than general battle damage, and they all knew it, but already the nanobots were enough that they would give Tony more of an edge than he'd ever have with just the suit. 

"We've brought the power down on the gun," Simmons exchanged a quick glance with Bruce, "but we don't think it's enough for anyone without enhanced abilities to survive use. Not even with what the nanobots can do. It would be a long shot at best."

Tony nodded, well pleased. He looked the files over, looking honestly impressed. "Fitz. You're actually a scientist, then," he remarked. 

Bruce sighed and looked over at the young man. "That's his way of saying that you're brilliant and you did a good job," he explained. "But Tony doesn't know how to be nice. Unless you're Steve, in which case he somehow finds a way."

"How is Captain Rogers doing?" Simmons chimed in. She'd been devoting a bit of side time to looking over some of the blood samples taken from him in the hospital, and none of them looked very promising. Though the serum was there, she expected his own white blood cells would cannibalize the dormant traces of it soon enough. It was doing nothing for his body, certainly. "It's been rather a big week."

 

Tony cocked an eyebrow at the woman, pursing his lips thoughtfully. "He's fine," he said slowly. Staring at her contemplatively, he finally stood up and moved over to her and Fitz's corner. Tony checked to make sure Bruce was thoroughly eyeballs deep in whatever he was looking at before he fixed his attention more intently on the two younger scientists. "So, I'm guessing you two probably have access to samples and whatnot on it all, but... I don't suppose you'd be up for the challenge of trying to help Steve get back to being Captain America? I think he's kind of attached to the whole superheroing thing, and I really just can't tell him no these days."

The pair shared a glance, and Simmons considered keeping silent. Bruce wouldn't be pleased, but she finally nodded. "We actually, er, we've talked about it a bit already." She winced at the look Bruce leveled at them when he overheard the chatter. "We aren't trying to work on a serum itself, Dr. Banner, just something to bring back what Captain Rogers has in his body while it's still there." She bit her lip and confessed, "We haven't found much, but we're looking. The second we find anything more than ideas, you'll both know," she assured Bruce and Tony.

"I dig the initiative. Good," Tony said, shooting Bruce a gloating look.

"Tony, I'm not so sure-"

"Bruce, if it was your boyfriend struggling to carry a few cokes and sandwiches up here for lunch, you wouldn't be so fucking self-righteous," Tony snapped, then took a moment to get himself together and looked back at Fitz-Simmons. "Thanks for even trying. I'm sure you'll figure something out." Still shaking a little from his outburst, Tony settled into his usual seat and started tinkering with files again.

Silence stretched out longer and longer as they all zoned into their respective tasks. "Oh! Oh!" Fitz tapped excitedly at his keyboard and sent what he'd done over to Tony's screen. "That should get the nanobots working at least twice as fast. They'd be able to... well..." He deflated slightly. "Well, you'd still die, but it wouldn't be as fast."

Bruce could have dropped his stylus pen when he saw Tony give Fitz an earnestly appreciative smile.

"Thanks, sport," Tony said, looking the specs over. "I'll feed this to Jarvis." Fitz was right; it wouldn't do more than buy him more time to possibly kill Loki, but hopefully it was a moot point. He really hoped it was a moot point. His stomach gurgled plaintively. It was the third time in the hour; Tony had just been pointedly ignoring it in favor of working.

"I think your gut's trying to tell you something," Bruce pointed out. "You should probably feed it."

Tony smirked, grabbing his phone and pulling up the only number he seemed to use these days. HEY, BEAUTIFUL. FEEL LIKE BRINGING LUNCH? OR SHOULD I MEET YOU SOMEWHERE?

No response was forthcoming, but Steve entered the room a few moments later with a bag full of soda and a stack of pizza and breadsticks. "Hey, sorry - they took forever." He stole a kiss from Tony and then set the pizza down on the barest counter he could find. "I hope nobody-" Steve fished his phone out of his pocket once his hands were free and nodded at the message there. He leaned in to whisper into Tony's ear, "You can meet me somewhere tonight," before ducking away and pulling some paper plates out of the bag. "Dig in, folks. I got cheese, pepperoni, and some kind of special thing with lots of vegetables."

Tony just missed catching the blonde as he ducked away. Once Steve had set the plates out, Tony hooked an arm around his waist, pulled him close and growled, "I think you owe me a kiss Rogers," though he was grinning as he leaned in for a quick but overly intimate kiss. Straightening, he grinned. "Thanks for the pizza."

Bruce rolled his eyes. He was getting used to Tony's total disregard for everyone's comfort, though. "Thanks for the food, Steve," he said quietly. He had to admit, Tony really seemed infatuated with Rogers. The fact that he hadn't run screaming when the serum quit, and that he didn't seem to be hanging on any hopes it would come back said a lot for him. //Tony Stark may actually be growing up. And here I thought we'd averted the end of the world...//

Steve couldn't help but linger close to Tony as they got their food. The casual contact of elbows bumping and arms brushing together comforted him. It reminded him that Tony was there. "Would anyone mind if I stayed down here for awhile this afternoon? I brought my sketchbook."

Fitz smiled at the suggestion as he poured himself a healthy glass of pure caffeine and sugar. "Don't see why not. And we are gorgeous subjects if I do say so myself."

Though Simmons rolled her eyes, she was smiling too. "Of course, Captain Rogers. We'd love to have you."

Tony smiled. It felt good to know his lover was going to stay close that afternoon. He hated the idea of being separated all day, and quiet companionship was something he could definitely enjoy. "I'm alright with that as long as we're not doing nudes. I don't think I can handle seeing Fitz naked," Tony decided around a mouthful of pizza. "Not to mention, these plastic chairs really stick to bare skin."

Bruce looked up from his food. "Tony, I'm not sure I want to know how you found that out."

"I don't think I do either," Steve agreed. It was nice being part of the group. While he hadn't been thrilled at first with the idea of walking around and enduring disbelieving stares, in the end his natural desire to be around people was overwhelming the concern. Hiding just wasn't his style. People were going to look. They were curious, and Steve couldn't blame them for the impulse. "Any progress today?"

Fitz nodded until he could finish the huge bite of pizza. "The nanobots are coming along. They're more active than ever, and..." He continued on rambling in a bit too much detail about the specs until he realized that Steve was probably listening only to be polite and trailed off. "Er, well, it's an improvement."

"It sounds that way." It had actually sounded mostly like made up words, but saying so would have been rude, and Steve wasn't the type to be rude without provocation, so he kept the opinion to himself. "Does it really look like the gun'll do enough to take Loki down this time?"

Bruce nodded, taking a drink of soda. "Jarvis says it will, but it's hard to be sure without full data. We don't really know what can hurt Loki. Except the hammer, which is off-limits. Thor's folks weren't exactly kind enough to loan us weaponry to get an idea, and that thing," he hooked a thumb over his shoulder at the well-contained evil-hammer, "is like trying to photograph a black hole."

"Which is impossible. In the visible spectrum," Tony added to make sure Steve understood. "But it's a hell of a lot better than anything else we've tried. I figure Bruce can batter him into submission and then Logan can shuffle him off his immortal coil."

The thought was a sobering one, and Steve couldn't help looking away. He suddenly felt a lot less hungry and a lot more terrified. It took only moments for him to get ahold of himself for the sake of everyone else in the room, but the knot of anxiety lingered inside. He didn't want Logan to die either, not even temporarily, but it was better than what could happen to Tony. "I'm glad you guys are working out the kinks." Steve was frankly starting to wonder if their best bet wasn't handing Clint the hammer and letting him beat Loki into a bloody pulp. He kept the idea to himself. It was dangerous too, and for all they knew Clint would end up just as dead. 

"Oh, we'll have this all sorted in no time at all," Simmons assured with more confidence than she felt. Her phone buzzed, and she looked suddenly terrified. "Director Fury would like to have a progress meeting later this afternoon with all of us."

Tony sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. "Alright. Alright, okay," he said, taking a deep breath. He wondered if it was really a progress update or if the good director actually had a mission for them. His eyes flicked anxiously to Steve before he could stop himself. He could see the well-controlled fear in the blonde's bright blue eyes as well. He wasn't sure if he was ready to actually deal with the idea of building the gun and using it. It was, in fact, the first time Tony Stark was not all that anxious to try out a new invention. Hands he just managed to keep from shaking nervously pulled Steve close. "Hey... It'll be alright. Hulk's gonna smash, Wolverine's gonna kill Loki, and I'll fly around making smartass remarks," he said, quirking a smile he didn't really feel.

Knowing Tony had a lot on his mind, Bruce looked over at Fitz-Simmons. "Maybe we better start putting together a prototype, then." They only had access to three Hydra weapons. It was all Fury could talk the Council out of. Hopefully, it'd be enough.

"Of course," Simmons and Fitz both agreed in concert. They shared a smile before sobering at the thought of the task ahead. "Looks like lunch break is over." Simmons tried to sound bright and cheerful, but she looked terrified too even if it was more about standing in front of Director Fury to make a presentation than it was about Tony's health and safety. 

As the rest of them went back to their stations, Steve pulled out his sketchbook. He curled up in one of the chairs and started working. He wouldn't let himself admit even internally why he was so focused. He was trying to preserve every last bit of Tony that he could. Nothing cemented memories for him like putting them on paper. His gaze almost never left Tony except when it fell briefly to the page, smudging lines or trying to get a curve just right. He needed to preserve everything while he still had a chance.

Tony's face was lined with worry as he helped Fitz-Simmons put the weapon together. He would glance at Steve from time to time and offer a faint smile before turning back to what he was doing. It became pretty damned hard to do even that, though, as he fitted the arc reactor replica to the weapon. Fitz-Simmons had designed the attachment socket perfectly. With very little effort, Tony would be able to link the weapon to his arc repulsors and channel it through the suit if he needed to. The thought gave Tony chills as he clicked the last latch to it. "Well... guess we've got something to show Fury now," he said numbly.

Steve had stopped drawing while Tony fit the piece into its socket. He'd nearly stopped breathing. From the look on Tony's face, he wasn't the only one. He didn't let himself say again the he didn't have to do it or point out that the idea was crazy. He bit his tongue and prayed that it wouldn't matter what he said or thought, prayed that Tony would just be safe and that they'd laugh later over how terrified they'd been. "I'll wait here," Steve finally decided. "Pretty sure I'm not gonna be a lot of help explaining the specs."

Even though she knew his lack of scientific acumen had little to do with the decision, Simmons smiled as if it made perfect sense. "Of course. We shouldn't be long. I'm sure Director Fury just wants to be sure it isn't all pizza parties and endless pots of coffee."

Bruce picked up the prototype and made sure Fitz-Simmons were out the door before giving Tony a pointed look and stepping out as well.

Tony didn't have to ask what it meant. He was being afforded a brief private moment. He glanced over at Steve's abandoned sketchpad, taking it gently from the desk and looking at it with genuine fascination. It was a bit of a stab in the heart as he realized that every one of the sketches was of him. He set the pad aside and looked up at Steve, tugging him close and pressing a kiss to his lips. "I'm gonna be fine," he insisted, wishing he could somehow make sure the words were a guarantee. 

Steve's throat was too tight to reply right away. Neither one of them really believed it. He almost hated in that moment knowing Tony so well. Once upon a time, he might not have heard the lie behind the words. "If this is... if he's sending you out... just... I'll be on the comms. I won't be there, but I'll be as close as I can be," he assured. It wasn't enough, not even close to enough, but it had to be. Steve kissed his lover slowly, gently, taking his time even though they didn't really have any. "I love you so much, and I know it isn't fair to ask it, but I need you to come back." He wasn’t interested in trading his pain for putting Scott through the same thing, but Logan had a much better shot at coming back home if things went sideways.

"I'll do everything I can," Tony assured, his voice shaking. Tony Stark didn't cry. He almost never even felt sad. At least, that was what he kept telling himself as a few tears rolled down his cheek and splashed on Steve's shoulder as he held his lover close. "Love you," he whispered, wiping his face as quickly as possible as he drew away. He offered Steve a wan smile as he forced himself to head for the door. "I'll see you later."

Tony caught up to the others just as they were stepping into the briefing room. "Wonder Twins, you're on," he said as Bruce set the prototype down on the table and the two of them took seats.

Simmons was startled to see that Tony's eyes were red, and he honest-to-god looked as if he'd been crying. She felt her blood run cold but tried to smile brightly. "Right, then!" She offered Fury an even shakier smile, nerves taking over from more specific worry as she and Fitz went back and forth. Somehow even when they should have been tripping over each other, it all flowed into a flawless if often too specific presentation of precisely what the gun could do. "There you have it, sir. Of course, there... well, there is the back up plan." Simmons looked to Tony, her expression suddenly strained.

Fury's one-eyed gaze drifted to Tony, shifting from looking fairly pleased to looking ready to kill again. "Please tell me this plan doesn't involve me losing another Avenger in charge, 'cause I'd hate to have to have these two put to sleep," he said, gesturing to Fitz-Simmons.

"Technically, I never agreed to be -"

"You agreed to your boyfriend telling you you're his replacement," the director bit out, "and I think that means you said yes in there somewhere."

"Okay, then, maybe... Plan B is me getting dead. Probably," Tony admitted simply, able to practically feel Bruce cringe next to him. "But! The plan is that Bruce bashes Mr. Evil against the pavement a few times before Logan even tries to shoot at him. It's practically fool-proof. Plan B isn’t a plan we’re really looking to, uh, use. Probably. Hopefully."

Fury settled back into his chair, staring hard at Tony for longer than he was entirely comfortable with. "We're getting some indications that Loki may be on the move," he finally said, apparently having decided that an ass-chewing wasn't going to help the situation for anyone. "We expect him to poke his head out somewhere nearby soon. Let's hope this raygun of yours works."

Simmons had never been more glad in her life at the possibility of not being in the field and so terrified at the same time of what might happen in the field. "Director, we honestly think that... well, that there should be no need for a back up plan. Everything should go perfectly."

Fitz nodded his eager agreement. "The gun will work. There's no question about that. Sir. Mr. Stark is right, it should be foolproof." The only question - and the one they all knew was hanging freely in the air - was whether the gun working would also be enough to kill Loki. 

Wincing at the obviously unspoken part of the statement, Simmons forced another smile. "It's nothing to worry about. Routine excursion." She had absolutely no idea what a routine excursion really looked like, but she prayed it was like what they had planned. "Really."

"You two wouldn't know 'routine' if it slithered up and bit you on the ass," Fury spat, pushing himself up and stalking out of the room.

"Well, that went well," Bruce remarked with a smirk.

"Sarcasm, Bruce? Passive-aggressive just isn't you." Tony stood.

"Well, everyone gripes about my aggressive-aggressive, so...." He shrugged.

"Well, it kept me from pancaking on the streets of New York, so I guess it's not all bad."

Bruce snorted as he pushed himself up. "I think I'm going to go get some sleep."

"Good plan." Tony didn't know how much time they had, but he was going to make a bee-line for his suite and spend every last minute tangled up with Steve in every sense he could think of.

"Sleep sounds like heaven," Simmons agreed with a happy sigh. She noticed that Tony was already drifting away and smiled a little sadly. She hoped there ended up being absolutely no need for the hurry. "Sweet dreams!" she called out to his retreating back.

Steve rose gratefully when Tony entered the room. The genius looked tense but not panicked, so Steve knew they had a little more time. "We clear to head upstairs?" he asked, hopeful, fingers already itching to touch every bit of Tony. He wanted to get so wrapped up in the man that he couldn't even remember Loki existed, let alone posed any kind of threat to them.

"You bet," Tony said, the stress immediately melting away from his features as he took Steve's hand in his own and moved toward the elevator. Back in his suite, Tony pulled his lover into a long, gentle kiss, smiling a little as he drew away. "You know, it feels pretty amazing holding you. You're pretty huggable," he said gently. Jerking his head toward the bar, he smiled faintly. "Think we could use a little wine?"

"Sure." It was strange to think that he could actually get a buzz from the stuff, and the idea of a long, luxurious night softened by the alcohol sounded nice. Steve grabbed the glasses while Tony selected the vintage. Given that even when he did have a reason to drink he'd mostly stuck to cheap beer, Steve was happy to let his lover choose. He couldn't help but fixate on Tony's hands as he went through the ritual of opening the bottle. For a moment he considered opening his sketchbook, but Steve wanted the time with Tony more than a sketch, and he took his glass with a smile. "I think a toast is in order. To us."

Tony clinked glasses, "Cheers," before taking a slow drink. It was a fruity Shiraz, one of his best. He wanted to see Steve buzzed, relaxed. He wanted them to take the night and enjoy it to the fullest. Not to mention, the light pink wine looked just incredible against Steve's lips. "You know, I think I'd like this night to last forever."

"I think I'd be okay with that." He liked the way Tony's eyes were shining, and he liked the taste of the wine on his tongue. Steve took a seat on the couch and patted the spot next to him. "C'mon, it's lonely over here." For however long they had before Loki surfaced, Steve wanted to be as close as possible to Tony. Once they were done with the wine, he intended fully to climb into the man's lap and not leave it until he absolutely had to. "And chilly without you. You don't want me catching cold, right?"

Tony grinned, piling onto the couch next to Steve and immediately throwing an arm around his shoulders. "I think you've had enough cold, Capsicle," he decided, pressing his lips to the blonde's forehead before taking another sip of wine. "Which is why, when we're done saving the world for at least a few minutes, we're going to a cabin in the mountains of Colorado, where I'm keeping a fire going and you're not leaving until spring."

"Mmm..." Steve hummed his approval and leaned his head back to rest on Tony's arm for a long, blissful moment. Long nights of nothing but Tony and a roaring fire and no one asking them for anything sounded like a pretty perfect approximation of heaven. "Definitely. Can't wait to see Fury's face when we tell him we're both disappearing for an undisclosed amount of time. And that I'll be smashing my cell phone into a million pieces before we leave so he can't contact us."

"I like that plan," Tony decided, curling his arm under Steve's head to toy with soft blonde hair. He sighed. "Of course, you know that he'd just send Nat in through the window or something equally creepy-spy-like if he wanted to get in touch. Then again, throwing the phones in the wood chipper would make it clear just how little we want to hear from him. Maybe he'd avoid bothering us unnecessarily." He let his head fall back against the couch as well, turning his face so that he could press his forehead to Steve's. "Maybe I'll bring a bottle of vodka to distract Romanov if he sends her to find us."

"Should work. Vodka and chocolate - she likes the dark stuff that's barely sweet," Steve pointed out. He nuzzled in close to Tony and kissed his lips softly only to leave off to take another sip of wine. They weren't in a hurry. For just one night they were pretending that they had forever. They had the life they were trying to plan together. Steve let himself live in that moment, let the fuzzy warmth of the alcohol take him over as he melted against Tony's side. "I love the moments like this. We need lots and lots of moments like this."

Tony nodded, relishing the way Steve settled perfectly against his body. "These are definitely ones we need more of. You know what else I liked, though? The idea that you were right there with me in the lab today, working away at that sketchbook." He knew that Steve had been trying to hang on to every moment, every angle. It didn't take an art aficionado to see the feeling in the man's sketches. Tony leaned in, pressing his lips to the corner of Steve's jaw, then working softly over to his lips and pressing their mouths together, enjoying the taste of the wine mixed with his lover. "I like having you close."

"I like it too." It was why he was terrified not only of the idea of Tony charging into battle but the idea of Tony charging off into battle without him. It wasn't a lack of faith in Tony's skill or his bravery or anything else. Steve knew firsthand that he'd do anything and everything to protect people. No matter how often he protested the title, Tony Stark was a hero through and through. Steve just wanted to be there. He wanted to be close. If something went wrong or god forbid Tony actually used the damn gun, Steve wanted to be right beside his lover. He wanted to be strong enough to take that burden on himself so that Tony didn't have to. "Maybe I'll try to come down more often when you're working on your suits. It's nice having some quiet time to sketch. Better when it's with you," Steve agreed, sealing the words with a lingering kiss that tasted of bittersweet grape.

"I think that's a plan," Tony murmured happily against Steve's lips. "You can hide in my lab anytime. Just don't get too close to Dummy. He has a tendency to spill stuff on people." He pressed his forehead to Steve's, turning his head slightly to rub their noses together with a faint smile. "I think you'd look good in one of my lab chairs, though."

Steve chuckled at that. "Just remember, I usually prefer to wear clothes while sitting in lab chairs. Hygiene. Besides, not to be conceited, but I don't think you'd get a whole lot of work done if I happened to be sitting there naked." He set the wine glass aside - it was mostly empty anyway - in favor of tangling his fingers in Tony's hair. He never got tired of the way it waved and curled in patterns that were as random as the man himself. "As it is, getting through briefings with you fully clothed is distracting some days."

Tony drained his wine glass and put it on the table, never one to waste alcohol. "Well, that's no big deal; meetings are boring as hell, anyway." He leaned into Steve's touch and then ran a hand down the man's chest. "But that is fair, I guess. You naked on my workbench might stop me from doing the things that I suppose I technically should be doing. Not to mention you might get a literal screwdriver somewhere it doesn't belong."

"That does not sound like fun," Steve protested even though he was smiling. He leaned back on the couch and dragged Tony down on top of him. "Kinda like taking advantage of the size difference a little. It's weird being the small one." It had been years since he was in that position and it had even been possible for someone to manhandle him. "Not bad, though, actually, at least with you. I like most things with you."

Tony smiled, settling easily into the new position. "Well, I am pretty enjoyable," he said easily, pressing his lips to Steve's. "And you can take advantage of about anything you want. Pretty sure I'd have a tough time telling you no." He ran his fingers through blonde hair, stealing another kiss before his fingers lightly dipped between the buttons of Steve's shirt. "Pretty sure you've seduced me past the point of being able to disagree with you."

"Mmm... good. My evil plan has come to fruition." Steve gave a little wriggle beneath the man, just enough to feel Tony's strength. "Then I guess the only real question left is whether you'd like to bend me over the couch or fuck me up against the wall." It still made him blush to say things like that, but he knew it was worth it. He knew how hot it got Tony, and watching that spark of lust light in his lover's eye was something he'd never get tired of seeing.

Tony breathed out a heavy sigh of arousal. "I think... yes," he said with a smirk, then stood, dragging Steve up off the couch with him. "But we'll start with the couch," he decided, pulling the blonde against him. He started working Steve's shirt open, button by button, keeping it slow. "Someday, we're going to have to get you into t-shirts as something more than underwear, because these buttons are great for teasing, but they get pretty frustrating after awhile," Tony pointed out, though he was in fact far from being in a rush.

"I have other shirts now," Steve pointed out, "thanks to Jarvis making some orders. So, y'know, if you ever got impatient and just tore one of these shirts open, that would probably be fine. So you know." He was grinning and finally dove forward. His lips found Tony's and set about making the man forget that he was unbuttoning anything, let alone that he was annoyed doing it. Steve let the wine and the touches and the heat of Tony's kiss burn away everything but their perfect night. Everything else could wait until the morning.

Tony's fingers fell still on Steve's shirt as his lips against Steve's mouth. One hand slid behind the blonde's head, and he moaned softly. The other hand gathered a handful of Steve's shirt and started tugging it upwards, working under shirt and t-shirt alike to slide over smooth skin. "Yeah, then, that shirt may not survive the night," Tony decided, both his hands sliding away and grabbing the offending garment. He yanked once, then twice, sending buttons flying and shoving the fabric away from Steve's shoulders, leaving Tony to yank the blonde's t-shirt off next. "That's better. More naked is always better."

"Begs the question of why you're still so dressed," Steve countered as he grabbed for Tony's shirt and dragged it off over his head. He pressed a hand briefly over the arc reactor. If he could trust one of Tony's stupid gadgets to keep him alive every day all day, Steve knew he had to trust in the man's other plans too. He let himself be soothed by the idea and sealed the silent promise with a kiss. Steve let himself get back into the moment, and slim fingers dove down to unfasten Tony's fly slowly and deliberately.

Tony shifted his hips a little against Steve's as the blonde worked his fly open. He cupped Steve's face once more, pulling him into a kiss as his hands wandered lower, gliding down over the man's slender shoulders and arms to rest on his hips. "Good thing I have you to help me with that," he murmured against Steve's lips, his own fingers teasing their way around Steve's waistband, thumbs flicking at the top of the blonde's fly without actually making an effort to unfasten it.

Steve squirmed at the touch and let out a sigh of frustration when Tony made no move to actually do anything more than tease. "Tony, please?" he finally whispered against Tony's lips, following the request with a kiss that he hoped would melt the last of Tony's resolve soundly. It worked for his own, and Steve was tugging Tony's jeans down his hips to grab a handful of the man's ass in short order.

Tony couldn't help but grin broadly at the rough grab at his ass. "You're cute when you're impatient," he decided, pressing his lips to Steve's as his fingers skillfully unfastened the man's jeans completely blind. Shoving the rough fabric down around Steve's thighs along with the blonde's underwear, Tony slid his hand down Steve's lean stomach to palm his cock, watching bright blue eyes. It fascinated him to no end to watch the bright hues darken with arousal.

Steve's breath caught, and he rocked instinctively into the touch. He looped his arms around Tony's neck and just let himself enjoy the touch for a long moment. He finally broke away to go back to pawing at Tony. "You've got a great ass, you know. Of course you know. But it's true anyway." He shoved somewhat ineffectually at Tony's pants to drive them farther down his hips and get even more bare skin to plaster himself against. Again he left off to rest his hands on the back of Tony's head, on his neck. His fingers twisted into the curlier hair against the base of Tony's neck.  
"Giving up so easily?" Tony teased as Steve's hands moved away from his jeans. He managed to wriggle free of them without breaking his lover's grip, kicking them away and then pulling their bodies closer together. The billionaire pulled Steve into another slow kiss, shifting this way and that, slowly and subtly herding Steve toward the end of the couch. Remembering how Steve had enjoyed a bit of rough play earlier, Tony clasped his hand firmly on the back of the blonde's neck and bent him over the arm of the couch, immediately pressing his swelling cock to the blonde's ass. He grabbed Steve's jeans down to his knees, using his foot to push Steve's a little further apart as he leaned in to nip at his ear and whisper, "You said we should christen the couch, right?"

The treatment was enough to make Steve whimper, but he got himself in control long enough to say, "Y-yeah. Think I mentioned that, yeah." He rolled his hips back to try to entice Tony to more. "I, uh," he fumbled under one of the couch cushions and then held the bottle back toward Tony. "Might've planned ahead a little." There were definitely times when it came in handy to be overly prepared. "Not that I doubted that you'd have everything you need, but I really, really don't want anything to stop you from fucking me right now."

Tony took the bottle, unable to articulate just how much of a turn on the whole moment was. Not only was Steve yet again talking frankly about fucking him in that perfectly hot bedroom rasp of his, but he'd obviously planned the whole evening for Tony to bend him over the couch. Once blood flow slightly improved in his brain, he managed, "You realize, of course, I hate being handed things." In reality, though, he'd barely registered even taking the bottle of lube from Steve's hand. "I think I'll let it slide, since you're a hot blonde," he decided, palming some of the lube and stroking slick fingers up Steve's asscrack teasingly. His other hand pressed lightly against the small of Steve's back as if to hold him in place. "So I guess you want this pretty badly, hm?" he asked casually.

Steve shuddered at the touch of Tony's fingers. The things the man could do to machines and robots mirrored the things he could do with a man's body pretty accurately. Having that intensity and that focus brought to bear on him never failed to get Steve off. "I want you really badly," he agreed in a husky whisper. Steve glanced over his shoulder and flashed Tony a smile that was far too wicked to belong on any of his old promo posters. "If you're trying to get me to beg, all you have to do is ask nicely."

 

The look went straight to Tony's cock and he barely bit back a whimper in response. "Fuck, where'd you learn to look like that?" he breathed, unable to keep from voicing the thought. Getting a better hold of himself, he shook his head. "I don't ask nicely." His slickened fingers brushed slowly over the blonde's puckered hole, pressing lightly as if to penetrate and then sliding a little lower, teasing the perineum before gliding back up. "Think I'd rather just make you," he said, putting a slight growl into his voice.

The tease was almost too much. Steve wondered how the hell Tony managed to get him so worked up with so little effort. The man could breathe and get his pulse soaring. "Th-that could work too," he agreed eagerly. They both knew Tony could take whatever he wanted any time he wanted it and Steve wouldn't stand in his way. They held that power over one another. Taking somebody to bed was one thing, letting them see you raw and naked in more ways than the physical was another thing altogether, and Steve was desperately grateful for the level of trust they’d found. "F-fuck, Tony, please, I need it... need you to... I need you inside me, please."

"No, you don't get me just yet," Tony replied, voice quiet but leaving no room for argument. He ran his free hand over Steve's slender back, watching thin muscles shift as the blonde squirmed. Slowly, he stroked a finger over Steve's puckered hole, gradually pressing harder until the digit slipped inside his lover. Tony moved closer to Steve, letting his cock press against Steve's ass as he worked. "Gotta be patient," he murmured, though Tony wanted to be anything but.

Steve couldn't respond at first because he couldn't catch his breath. It was shockingly hot to have Tony drawing things out. Normally his lover was the impatient one, the one who jumped in feet first and forget about the consequences until they became inconvenient. Instead Tony was the one stroking him and telling him to wait it out. Steve let out a low moan as as Tony's hard cock pressed up against him and promised everything that would come if he could wait long enough. "Tony," he moaned, rocking back against his lover's finger and making it clear that he approved heartily of the treatment. 

 

Tony couldn't bite back the soft moan that escaped him as Steve pressed back against his hand, inadvertently creating friction against his cock. "Good," he murmured, admiring his lover's body, taut as a bowstring as he strained for more. Tony slipped another finger into Steve, working him open. Each thrust of his digits pushed them a little deeper, and Tony smirked as he found Steve's prostate. He gave the sensitive spot a slow stroke, dark eye fixed closely on Steve's face.

Steve's fingers clutched at the leather of the couch. It was probably a good thing he was without his enhanced strength or Tony would have been in the market for some serious repairs to the upholstery. "Do that again, please, Tony." It was becoming easier and easier to beg with each passing moment, and Steve found that he actually couldn't help it the more worked up he got. He supposed it was mostly easy because when he looked back at Tony, he could see how turned on his lover was. Knowing that Tony got off on it was enough to get him to do a whole hell of a lot of things.

 

Tony obliged, relishing the way Steve writhed in answer. He waited until Steve stilled before repeated the process several times until watching the man squirm just wasn't enough. Tony withdrew his fingers and slicked some lube over himself before shifting to stand directly behind Steve, letting his cock rest between his lover's ass cheeks. "Ready for me?" he asked, shifting his hips lightly to tease them both.

"Yes, Tony... I... more than ready. More than," he murmured again, a shiver running through him and his hands braced on the couch to hold himself steady while he waited for the first thrust. He looked back over his shoulder and fixed dark eyes on Tony's face. He held all the power for the moment, and he wore it well. He looked absolutely stunning standing there with his hair wild and his eyes shining. "I need you." Steve had never meant that on so many levels at once. They completed one another in a million different ways, and together they made a bizarre sort of sense. Steve wasn't sure he'd ever feel entirely whole again without having Tony at his side.

Tony smiled his satisfaction at the confession, shifting his hips back to line himself up before he slowly pushed into the blonde's body. He took it slow, not wanting to hurt Steve. He hummed his pleasure as his hands tightened on the blonde's hips. "You feel so good," he murmured. "So tight, Steve. Fuck..." He began slowly rocking his hips, sinking a little deeper with each shift.

Feeling Tony sinking inside him was, simply put, perfect. Steve's eyes fluttered closed, his lashes dark against his cheeks. He let the loss of his sight focus the sensation in until all he felt was Tony. He could smell the man's cologne and a hint of sweat, he felt the small centers of pressure as Tony's fingers dug into his hips, and Steve relaxed into the couch to just let himself enjoy it. He'd been eager to have it, and Steve didn't want to miss cataloging a single sensation in his mental library. "Gonna paint you like this later," Steve murmured, "the way you look... just for me."

The idea was strangely hot, the thought that Steve would want to preserve the moment and with such a degree of effort. That combined with the sight of Steve's gorgeous eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks was enough to make Tony half crazy. He leaned forward to press a kiss to the back of Steve's neck, bracing a hand on the couch. "Think I'd like that," he purred, watching gorgeous pink lips quiver with pleasure. Steve was obviously relishing the moment, and the look of him so turned on was something Tony wanted to memorize in every detail. "Maybe you should draw us both." He punctuated the suggestion by jerking his hips forward, burying himself fully in his lover's tight heat.

Steve had never been a fan of self portraits. The only time he'd done it, he'd been making fun of himself more than trying to capture any moments. Still, the idea that Tony would want that, want to capture him that way, especially the way he looked without the serum, that was enough to make Steve smile. "Yeah, maybe," he agreed quietly. Steve tensed his muscles briefly to squeeze Tony's cock in a perverse sort of welcome. "Right now I just want to make this couch so messy that even you feel inspired to clean it."

It was impossible to stifle the soft gasp that the squeeze and the mental image inspired. "You are way less innocent than everyone thinks. You might even be downright dirty," he murmured, sliding his hand down Steve's chest and between his legs to stroke the blonde's cock. He licked his way back up to Steve's ear, his voice dropping to a low growl. "Which just makes me want to fuck you harder, use you like I know you want me to." As if to prove his point, he drew slowly back and slammed his hips forward.

"Do it, Tony," he panted. Steve had often found his image laughable. There were worlds of difference between being a good person and being a blushing virgin. Granted, Tony could still make him blush, but Tony was damn near a professional at it. Which didn't mean Steve couldn't give as good as he got. "You can do whatever you want to me. I'm all yours, baby."

Tony moaned softly, tightening his grip on the couch and Steve's cock as he started thrusting harder, faster, driving his lover's throbbing shaft into his fist with each forward stroke. "You look so good like this. Love how much you need it, how you move, like you can't get enough," he panted, angling his hips to hit the spot inside Steve that he knew would drive the most irresistible sounds from his lover.

Steve couldn't really help it - he all but screamed Tony's name. That one stroke combined with Tony's hand on his cock almost finished him that fast, and Steve only barely hung back from the edge of release. Already he was dripping, precum smearing against the leather as Tony drove into him. "I can't... that's... it's like that because I can't get enough," Steve admitted without hesitation. "Never enough." He was pretty sure they could spend a week doing nothing but having sex and taking breaks to hydrate enough to keep going and he still wouldn't have had enough. He was pretty sure he'd still be begging Tony to fuck him harder or spreading the man open so he could return the favor. "Never gonna be enough."

The sound of Steve crying out so desperately was enough to force Tony to slow for a moment to keep from cumming right then. The copious amount of precum soaking his fingers was enough to tell him that it had been an earnest reaction. "That's probably good," he breathed, hips barely moving against his lover, "because I'm pretty sure I can't get enough of you saying my name like that." Tony stilled then, taking a moment to raise a hickey on Steve's neck before he whispered, "Let's get you and this couch good and messy..." He started thrusting in earnest then, driving for Steve's prostate, squeezing the blonde's cock just hard enough to keep it from being painful and digging the fingers of his free hand into the couch for leverage.

It took a few more shaky minutes to build back up again. Steve was eternally grateful for the fact because he loved the feeling of Tony driving him toward the brink of absolute insanity. He whimpered and forced himself back and then forward, cock twitching in Tony's hand. He let out breathless moans with every punishing thrust. The head of Tony's swollen cock massaged him from the inside until Steve could barely do more than hold on for the ride. Soon he felt his whole body tense before exploding in one of the most satisfying climaxes he'd experienced in his life. Steve knew he murmured Tony's name, but otherwise the roaring of his own heartbeat in his ears covered any sound.

The sounds Steve made as he came and the heat of his release gushing over Tony's fingers was more than enough to push him over the edge. Tony's throaty moans filled the room as he spilled himself generously inside his lover, his hand keeping a deathgrip on the couch. The last few tremors of orgasm ripped through him before he finally drew away, grabbing Steve by the waist and dragging him down to lay back in the lush carpet. He pulled the blonde into a slow kiss, then sagged back against the carpet to pant for air. "Not only do I love you, but you are one incredibly hot lay," he managed between gulps of air.

"The feeling's mutual on both counts," Steve answered, laughing even as he flopped back onto the carpet in a graceless, comfortable sprawl. They were definitely going to have to clean up later. He was going to need a shower to safely come into contact with any surfaces and have them not need extensive cleaning. But it didn't matter. High on endorphins and Tony, Steve felt damn near blissful for the time being. "I don't think I can walk. I literally don't think my legs would work if I tried right now. It's wonderful."

"Should I call Bruce? He's kind of a doctor." Tony laughed at the poisonous glare he got and ruffled Steve's already mussed, sweat-damp hair. "Well, if you think there's any chance of recovery, I feel like I let you down. I'll have to fuck you harder next time," he decided, propping himself up on one elbow to look at the blonde. "I mean, I'd hate you to feel like you didn't get everything you signed up for."

"Mmm... yeah, you might have to try again later. I'd hate to think we didn't do our damndest to make this thing work," Steve answered, laughing and rolling over to rest his head on his arms. He found it momentarily annoying that the return of his bonier frame meant it wasn't as comfortable as it could have been. "I may have to walk, though. I don't think my arms work as pillows anymore. Shoddy craftsmanship, I tell ya," Steve complained as he finally forced himself up into a sitting position and planted a firm kiss on Tony's lips. "Love you."

"Love you, too," Tony said with a smile. "I'd offer myself as a body pillow, but I'm told the reactor's kinda pokey." He pushed himself up as well, glancing at the aftermath of their coupling. "Yeah, we're gonna have some cleaning to do. And then some mystery stains to make the cleanup crew take care of." He pulled Steve in for another kiss. "Worth it. I like making you all messy."

"Normally I don't like getting messy all that much... this happens to be an exception. YOU happen to be an exception." Steve stood, trying to ignore how absolutely gross he felt. "C'mon, I need a trip through the nearest shower before we can properly collapse into bed, get a little rest and then, if the world hasn't fallen down around our ears, do this all over again before somebody notices we haven't done any work in hours."

Tony grinned broadly, pushing himself up to follow Steve into the bathroom. The second the water was warm enough, he pulled Steve under the spray and lathered him up and rinsed him off. After they got in bed, though, Tony slowed down, tugging Steve close to him and letting his hands roam over the blonde's lean body. "Feel better?" he asked. 

"Mm hm," Steve agreed, rolling onto his side so that he could look at Tony. Reality was slowly creeping into his carefully constructed bubble of happiness, but it was still wonderful to be tangled up in bed with Tony. "This is the best night I've had since the last night I spent with you." Despite the sappiness of the words, Steve meant every single one, and he followed them with a gentle kiss. "Just keep in mind that I fully intend to spend all my nights like this or some close variation thereof."

"Variety is the spice of life. Maybe we could get a bear skin rug to fall asleep on. I hear those are cozy," Tony quipped, sighing contentedly as Steve snuggled in close. "Maybe that could go with the whole Colorado cabin thing." He yawned widely, remembering that his compulsive rambling was probably not the most romantic thing ever. He lightly tousled Steve's damp hair and smiled at him fondly. "Either way, really, long as I get to cuddle you."

"You can do that. Always." Steve smiled at the sight of Tony's sleepy face, the smile on his lips and the way his eyes were starting to blink more and more slowly as sleep threatened. "Get some sleep. Tomorrow's going to be a big day." He tried to make it sound like a day filled with potential instead of the potential disaster he felt it might really be. Steve knew damn well he might lose the person who had somehow become the center of his universe. The thought was enough to make him shift in closer to hold Tony tight as he let his eyes close. "See you in the morning."

"Mmhm," Tony replied. Steve was holding him tighter than usual. Tony knew why, but he also knew that talking about it in that particular moment was just going to make the reality harder. Forcing himself to relax, he Steve as close as he could and tried not to think about the idea that he might end up dead just as he'd found someone who mattered so much to him.


	13. D-Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the situation with Loki comes to a head. Things do not go well.

"Sir?"

Tony grimaced as Jarvis kept trying to get his attention. "Jarvis, what time is it?" 

"Four AM, sir. Director Fury urgently requests your presence in the main briefing room. He said to suit up."

Tony felt his blood run cold even as his pulse spiked. This was it. He looked over to Steve. "Babe..."

Steve's eyes were already open, and he nodded, face pale in the soft glow of the arc reactor. He fought against a momentary, panicked urge to tell Tony not to go, to stay and let everyone else go. It was ridiculous and impractical and absolutely not what he really wanted. Badly as Steve wanted to protect Tony, he knew that there were bigger things at stake. Instead of saying any of the things zinging through his head, Steve took a deep breath, kissed Tony soundly, and sat up. "Let's get going." He might not be able to go out into the field, but he could get dressed and sit at the comms and at least know what was happening with his team. "The world's not going to save itself."

Tony nodded, feeling numb as the reality set in. Not only was he going out without Steve and without a guarantee of success, but he was going out there as team leader. Everyone was going to be depending on him. He glanced at Steve as he pulled on one of his high tech bodysuits and meandered into the bathroom to take care of his morning routine. Some people were going to be depending on him in ways that weighed more heavily. 

Emerging from the bathroom, Tony mentally summoned the nanobots, letting the suit form up to his waist before he stopped it. He pulled Steve close for a long, slow kiss before letting the red and gold armor swallow him up to his neck. "Ready?"

"Ready," Steve answered even though he was anything but. He felt oddly exposed wearing slacks and a button down and standing next to Tony in his suit. It was also comforting, though, knowing that the man was protected. Tony was as safe as he could be given the situation. "I feel like I should make a side trip to remind Fitz that if the nanobots don't work, I'm still more than capable of breaking his arm. That doesn't seem particularly polite, though." He sighed and half-smiled at Tony. They couldn't afford to be too serious. He couldn't break down crying every time there was silence on the line during the fight. It was time to shut that down until the right time came to process everything. In front of the team, he needed to be strong even if he wasn't their leader for now. He still intended to stand beside Tony for every last second afforded them.

"Considering he put his tiny little labrat soul into making them able to help me in the first place, I'd call that a little mean," Tony said with his usual flippant grin. The armor slid away from one of his hands and he offered it to Steve, knowing just how small the blonde must have felt next to him. "C'mon, gorgeous. I've got a team to lead and you've got a bunch of people to convince I'm not just keeping you strapped to my bed." 

The tension in the conference room was thick as Tony settled in. What was left of their team was already suited up, and Tony looked around at them all, sizing them up before Fury started to talk. 

"Loki's making another appearance. Grand Central Station this time."

Logan rolled his eyes and glanced at Scott. "Like that place doesn't get enough abuse," he muttered under his breath. 

Fury continued with barely a glance at the man. "Stark has the lead on this. Banner, I know you don't like to suit up..."

"Not a suit," Bruce pointed out. 

"...but you're about the only thing that can slow Loki down enough that I feel like we can hand Logan that evil raygun of Stark's and have a chance of shooting him."

"Oh, so now it's MY raygun."

Fury gave Tony a look that said he was exercising every last ounce of his very limited patience. "And you're plan B. You better not use that plan, because I really can't spare any more Avengers."

"Not planning to, boss."

Fury nodded, looking around the room. "Anyone else have anything to add?"

Scott, who had suited up for the occasion though he'd warned Fury it might be the last time for a long while, shook his head. He didn't want to talk. He wanted to find Loki and kill the god, preferably painfully. It was a grudge match, and he also wasn't about to let Logan go and get himself killed - even temporarily - without being by his side. He felt for Steve, who would be grounded for the mission and stuck listening in. "I always thought Grand Central looks better with a skylight anyway. Let's do this."

Across the table, Natasha smiled. "Let's make it hurt." She hadn't missed the fact that Clint and Phil arrived to the meeting together or the way they kept glancing at one another. Her heart warmed at the sight, but it also worried her. The timing was bad. Loki would use any connections they had. He'd already done it to try and tear the team apart once. "And let's all come back in one piece."

"Agent Coulson will be coordinating on site, and I'll be here on the comms. You need something we can send your way, say the word," Steve affirmed with all the strength he could muster. SHIELD agents weren't going to be much more than cannon fodder, but they'd be enough to help with the Brotherhood and keep the situation somewhat contained. Steve hoped that coordinating that side of things would help him not think so much about the fact that Tony was putting his life on the line in a truly terrifying way and that the rest of his team was just as endangered. "Take him out. Contain the Brotherhood, bring them in if you can, but Loki goes down."

Tony glanced around the room. "Alright, my show now. Phil, you make sure I know where all my ducks are. Barton, Romanov, you two make sure he doesn't get killed. Logan, you and Bruce are taking point. Summers, you're their backup. I'll stay close as well."

Clint nodded, relieved to know that he was staying with Phil and Nat. He was also pretty impressed at how easily Tony was stepping into the leadership role. "You got it, tin man."

Bruce sighed. "This is about the exact opposite of what seems like a good idea."

"Don't worry, Jolly Green. I'll make sure you don't break Manhattan," Tony assured. "Everyone get in the jets."

It didn't take long to get to their drop zone, and Tony flew himself over. As they gathered up, Tony noted that Bruce was still Bruce. "You gonna suit up?"

"After I get through the door," the scientist replied with a nervous smile. 

Tony nodded. "Romanov, Barton, Coulson? Do the creepy spy through the ventilation shafts thing. The rest of is are taking the front door."

SHIELD had already gotten an evacuation order put in through Homeland Security, and there initially appeared to be no one there as they entered. "Okay, Loki. We know you and your army of freaks are here. You can come out."

Logan raised an eyebrow. "Hey!"

"I meant the bad ones. Bad mutants. They're the freaks. Don't stab me." Tony put armored hands up defensively.

Loki appeared with a flourish at the back of the cavernous space. "Remarkably easy to clear such a massive structure. I suspect SHIELD was rather proactive in chasing off the locals?" He strode forward as if none of them posed any particular threat - and he didn't really suspect that they did. Various Brotherhood members soon filtered in from the sides to take positions as well. "I hope you weren't waiting too long for us, but making a truly wonderful entrance is impossible for me to resist."

The god's booming voice echoed uncomfortably through the ducts. "Sounds like the party started," Coulson muttered, noting that Natasha had quickened her pace up ahead. 

Natasha whispered back, "Not much farther. We can drop down just outside the main room up here. Should give us the advantage of not being seen right away."

Below, Scott held his ground, sticking close to Logan. He knew his primary mission was to keep Logan alive long enough to do what needed to be done. He visually cataloged the mutants present. Sabretooth would be their biggest threat on that count. Mystique he could keep back, but even his abilities would only keep Creed from closing in for so long. 

Over the comm, Steve informed them, "Widow, Hawkeye and Agent Coulson will be on the ground with you in a minute. Bruce, it's time to let the big guy out to play."

"Right," Bruce muttered, letting adrenaline, fear, anxiety, and rage that he usually kept back boil over. The Hulk roared a challenge at the gathered enemies, thumping his chest with one massive fist and grinning with an eager glint in his eye. 

Tony's HUD quickly told him just how many mutants were there on Loki's side. "Maybe we should've invited the X-Men," he muttered to Logan, who was already shouldering the gun and moving for a better angle. To Loki, Tony shot back, "Not a bad entrance. But you left a better impression at the tower." He smirked at the god as the Hulk edged closer.

Clint groaned and rolled his eyes as he heard the exchange over his earpiece. "You must be stressed, Stark. That pun was terrible," he hissed as Natasha dropped into the room ahead of them. He didn't get a chance to dwell on it, though, as four short, sharp blades sliced through the ducting in front of him, narrowly missing his face. Clint shifted back, though with Coulson behind him there wasn't far to go. One meaty, powerful hand sank claws into his vest and its blast-proof plating and dragged him out, using his body to widen the opening.

Victor smirked, holding Clint up off the floor as the man struggled. "Awful scrawny for such a massive pain in the ass," he observed.

"Sometimes not being a big idiot's an advantage," Clint shot back, driving a boot into Victor's face and taking the second of distraction to yank at the releases at his waistline, detaching the vest from his load bearing belt. There was a loud crack as he deliberately twisted one of his own shoulders out of socket and slipped out of the vest. He managed to get his quiver before he rolled away from one of Victor's swipes. Clint winced as he rolled his arm back into place but didn't even pause before he lodged an arrow right in his opponent's ribcage. "Phil," he grunted as he dodged another attack, "do NOT come out of that ductwork."

It was a nice thought, really, staying in the ducts, but it wasn't practical. He heard Natasha make a sound of pain and anger as someone apparently got hold of her, and he swung himself down, lining up a shot on Creed that was as likely to piss the guy off as take him down. The tranq rounds in the barrel weren't likely to slow him down for more than a few seconds, but it would give Clint time to recover. He squeezed the trigger while searching for Natasha. He spotted her tangling with a guy whose tongue looked longer than half the building. She looked more revolted than worried, so Phil kept his attention with Clint. The last thing he was willing to do was leave Barton in the lurch to save his own ass.

Scott slammed a blast of concussive energy into Mystique as the woman tried to round toward them from behind and felt a rush of relief that he'd maintained control. Even after a few intensive sessions on the range, Scott wasn't feeling entirely confident. Control without mechanical assistance was new to him, and he was grateful to see the Hulk approaching Loki. Silently he prayed it would work as a solid distraction.

Meanwhile, the Hulk was steadily closing in on Loki.

"Really, Dr. Banner, we have to stop meeting this way." Loki stood tall but wasn't above feeling a flicker of nervousness. The Hulk was a formidable adversary, and even with a few members of the Brotherhood flanking him, he would have preferred to have the massive green creature engaged elsewhere.

The Hulk gave Loki a cocky smirk, reaching for him until a blur of motion distracted him, a punch landing just under his eye, then his stomach, then the back of his head in quick succession. A tall, lean figure with a smarmy grin and silver hair seemed to materialize in front of him, and he growled irritably. "Puny mutant." He swiped for the man, but the mutant disappeared and then reappeared just inches from his reach. 

"This way, big guy. Catch the puny mutant!" Quicksilver taunted, moving back from Bruce's reach with every swipe. He laughed as the Hulk roared his frustration, luring him away from Loki. 

"Shit," Logan muttered, moving to try and get a clear shot. "So much for the easy shot." He found himself wishing he was more of a marksman. The gun wasn't exactly something you could take to the gun range. Logan managed to get what felt like a steady shot, and the beam landed a decent glancing blow. Logan grunted as his vision blurred for a moment and the weapon weighed a little heavier on his shoulder. "Stark, that didn't work. And I think I've got two more shots left. Maybe."

Tony frowned inside his helmet. Things were already going south. He knew that talking Bruce out of chasing that irritating little shit with the grin wasn't likely to work. "Got it. Make sure they count."

"Coulson, you tell me I'm bad at following directions," Clint grunted, managing to back away from Victor a bit further. He'd lost a few of the arrow heads in the scuffle, including the acid rounds that were most effective against Creed. The hulking mutant stood between Hawkeye and a decent escape route, and with his handler backed in there with him, just leaving wasn't an option, anyway. 

Victor caught the subtle shift in Barton's line if sight as the man worked out a strategy. The feral mutant smirked as he took a deep breath, scenting the two before him. "Well, you two are close," he said, "in more ways than one." He barely winced as another arrow lodged in his chest, instead leveling a glare at Clint. "Guess that means that if I get one, I get both."

Clint opened his mouth to tell Phil to run, but Victor was headed for him, not his handler. Clint ducked, rolled and dodged, managing to narrowly avoid Victor for several moments before the mutant managed to catch him by the ankle, yanking him off his feet so hard that the air was knocked from his lungs. Clint felt a sort of panic wash over him as he felt Victor's weight settled over him, the mutant's hand closing on the back of his neck, metal claws scraping at his throat. The archer was certain he was about to die. 

Victor smirked up at Phil. "Drop the gun," he growled. His fingers tightened on Clint's neck, claws drawing pinpricks of blood. "I mean it."

 

The metal fell to the ground without a second's hesitation. Other weapons could be found, and weapons weren't the only way to fight. If Clint got his throat torn out, that was a scenario they couldn't work around. "What do you want?" he asked flatly. Creed already knew that what he wanted most was for Clint to be safe, so there was no endgame in pretending otherwise. Phil kept his eyes on the mutant. If he paid too much attention to Clint or the blood trickling down his skin, then it would get even harder to pretend he felt anything close to calm. As it was, Coulson found himself really wishing he had Logan's claws and a chance in hell of beating Creed hand to hand just so that he could get a few hits in.

"Get ready," Scott shot toward Logan, sending a blast straight at Loki. It wasn't going to hurt him, and it didn't, but it did slam Loki back against the wall - giving at least one shot without the god moving or having as much opportunity to dodge. It would have been a lot more helpful if Hulk had been able to immobilize Loki more fully, but Hulk was still chasing Quicksilver like a dog chasing its own tail. 

While Scott watched, a dark shape slammed fully into the silver-haired mutant's back from behind. Natasha rolled away and held up one wrist, and before even Piotr had a chance to recover, she sent electricity zinging through his body until he was shaking and trembling on the ground. "Don't touch," she cautioned Hulk firmly, voice all business. "He's not gonna be much fun to play with for awhile. How about you give him," she jerked her head toward Loki, "something to sink his teeth into."

Logan followed Scott's blast with one of his own, staggering as the weapon drained him further still. "Son of a bitch," he grated, struggling to keep his feet under himself. Loki, though obviously worse for wear, was still standing. "Stark... I don't... think this is working."

Tony pelted at Loki with his own attacks, though he soon found himself struggling to keep other Brotherhood members from interfering with their tactics. "Third time's a charm, Wolvey, baby."

Hulk scowled at Natasha, looking for a moment as if he was ready to turn his rage against her, but seeing Scott and Logan blasting away at the god gave him a reason to grin. As Loki tried to recover from the attacks, Hulk reached for the god, intent on giving him another solid thumping.

Victor, meanwhile, was sneering at Coulson. "Well, I've got half o' what I want. The other half is you comin' with us. Loki ain't too happy with the pair o' you, and I guess he wants to 'discuss' it with ya. So he's having me collect you both." His free hand pinned Clint's left hand as the archer squirmed. "He wasn't too specific on condition, but I got the feeling he'd like ya alive." He looked back up at Coulson. "That is, assumin' you play along."

Phil gritted his teeth together. It was frustrating to not have a better option than playing along, but he wasn't about to let Clint get hurt. He finally met the man's gaze, silently apologizing for not having a solid plan B. "I think I'd prefer alive too, so let's work with that," he agreed tersely. "Agent Barton, behave yourself. I think at the moment discretion is the better part of valor." At least until they had a decent enough opening to allow them to eviscerate the mutant and remind him that messing with SHIELD wasn't actually a good idea. "You might want to remind your boss that he wasn't capable of killing me last time. I don't see why he thinks he'll be anymore talented this time."

Ignoring the taunt, Victor tossed Coulson a set of handcuffs that looked distinctly alien. "Put 'em on." Once the man had complied, he gestured for Phil to come closer. Drawing out the device that Loki had supplied him with, he pulled the agent in enough to use it on the three of them, and they were gone.

Across the room, things were going equally well. 

"You pathetic fools!" Loki spat, his voice vibrating with rage. The ridiculous-looking gun that Logan wielded was surprisingly painful. He felt strange, almost feverish. He wasn't leaving without Tony Stark, and the man in question seemed to be holding back. Apparently they thought that the stupid gun would be enough to kill him. Loki glared hard at Logan and stepped in closer. "I think, my friend, that you will be killed by your idiotic toy long before I am."

"Well, it's worth a try," Logan gritted out, firing the weapon one more time. "Stark..." As he sank to the ground, he felt the weight of the weapon pulled from his hands.

Tony barely let himself think. Loki was still alive, and they had one last option. "Keep him back," he told Scott. "I need a few seconds, and your boyfriend needs you to keep this freak away from him." Tony yanked the oversized arc reactor away from the gun, dragging metallic tubing from the opening left behind. It coupled perfectly with the suit's chest-mounted nanorepulsor, and Tony felt a strange thrum through his entire body as the gun's energy systems linked to the suit's and to him. He tugged away the focusing and targeting mechanisms, leaving little more than the energy chamber. Tony held his free hand out, aiming the repulsor in it. Instead of the usual bright blue, the weapon crackled with dark energies, and Tony felt feverish and weak and vaguely like he was going hollow on the inside. 

He took a few steps toward Loki, determined to make sure the other two men didn't get caught up in the gun's effects. His faceplate melted away so that he could look Loki in the eyes even as his own dark brown hues seemed to fade a little. "We've had enough of your shit, Loki," he rasped, willing the repulsor to fire. Something excruciating seemed to arc directly through him right before the blast slammed into the god, and Tony heard a scream, realizing as he collapsed to the ground that it was his own. He couldn't see, could barely hear what was going on around him. He could practically feel his heart slowing. Knowing Steve was listening, he murmured softly, "Love you..."

"Tony!" Steve knew that screaming into everyone's comm wasn't helping. "Tony, please, I love you, please..." He felt someone take his microphone and dimly registered a lanky form at his side and a hand on his shoulder. It was done. He knew without having to be told, and he found himself entirely unable to hold back the enormity of the moment. It was too much to handle, and he sat in the chair, face blank. 

Natasha cursed in Russian under her breath and moved to get closer, but Loki was a beat faster than her. His eyes blazed with naked fury as he reached out to grab Tony's limp hand. "He's mine." Honestly Loki looked little better than Tony, trembling and pale even by his standards. His cold blue eyes were bloodshot, but he grinned maniacally at Natasha before producing a golden orb from his pocket and pressing some odd sequence on the side. Both Loki and Tony disappeared in a heartbeat. The woman bared her teeth and came as close as humanly possible to actually hissing with fury. She unleashed it by grabbing the nearest mutant and slamming her first into Raven's nose as hard as possible.

Scott stuck close by Logan to keep the way clear. The man was breathing - barely - and that was about it. He tried not to let himself think about everything else that was going on around them. With their master gone, he noted that many Brotherhood members were retreating. "They're clearing out." They'd heard Steve, but he belatedly realized that Coulson's voice had been notably absent during the encounter, and was still silent. "Coulson, where are you? Barton?"

It was Natasha who got herself together first and headed to Clint and Coulson’s last position. “They’re gone.” She hissed out a curse and braced a hand against the wall. After a few deep breaths, she grated out in an even, hollow tone, “Loki took Stark’s body. Coulson and Barton are unaccounted for. Logan is down. The Brotherhood is scattering.” Natasha gritted her teeth. “We lost.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I'm not so much of a jerk that I really wanna leave anyone hanging, keep reading this if you wanna feel a little better.
> 
> Only if you want to.
> 
> This is gonna spoil things.
> 
> Sort of.
> 
> I think we all know it's okay.
> 
> Note that there is no character death tag on this baby. No one is dead, just presumed dead. Things ARE gonna suck for awhile, but no one is dead.


End file.
